Showing posts with label gustavason. Show all posts
Showing posts with label gustavason. Show all posts

Wednesday, May 22, 2024

UNWILLING SUBJECTS OF FINANCIALIZATION
desiree fields
Abstract
This article seeks to advance debates about the financialization of housing by focusing on the emergence of rental housing as a frontier for financialization, a dynamic that is increasingly relevant since the global financial crisis. Situated in New York City, the research focuses on an aggressive wave of investment in affordable rent-stabilized properties by private equity firms, their efforts to release value from these properties, and the implications of the 2008 financial crisis for their investment strategies and thus for tenants’ experience of home. Through detailed empirical analysis tracing the connections between how rental housing has been constituted as a new site for private equity investment globally, the local conditions facilitating this process in New York and how it reshaped everyday life for tenants, the article theorizes tenants as unwilling subjects of financialization. Yet unwillingness does not necessarily translate into being overtaken; it also connotes reluctance and indeed struggle. This novel conceptualization highlights the ways in which financialization meets with dissent, and its necessarily contingent and incomplete nature. The article therefore develops the wider intellectual project of understanding financialization not as a monolithic and inevitable process, but as one characterized by resistance from without and contradiction from within.
Introduction
The US foreclosure crisis and global economic downturn it ignited in 2008 focused attention on low- and moderate-income families’ dwellings and neighborhoods as sites of capital extraction for global investors (Newman, 2009; Sassen, 2009). Indeed while financial capital is integral to the urban process, including residential real estate (Harvey, 1985; Aalbers and Christophers, 2014; Moreno, 2014), the crisis underlined how the imperatives of accumulation often cultivate boom-and-bust cycles of real estate speculation by financial interests (Wissoker et al., 2014). Urban space and residential real estate represent prime sources of the ongoing supply of assets on which financial capital depends to generate new income streams (Leyshon and Thrift, 2007), but the hunt for yield also entails increasingly risky strategies that can trigger a wider asset crash. Financialization has increasingly drawn together the fates of households and local housing markets and global capital markets (Aalbers, 2009). The crisis-prone nature of this link influences the tenor of life at home in ways that reflect and reproduce broader inequalities in the social relations of housing, as when predatory mortgage- lending practices disproportionately infuse the home life of women, people of color and low-income families with stress and insecurity (Saegert et al., 2009; Cuevas, 2012; Wyly et al., 2012).
The bulk of research dealing with the financialization of housing addresses homeownership. But rental housing today constitutes an important new node for financializing projects globally, most noticeably in the US single-family market and in other countries suffering extreme real estate downturns due to the global financial crisis, including Spain and Ireland (Mendez and Pellicer, 2013; Beswick et al., 2016).
This article has benefited enormously from the support and careful critiques of many readers over several years, particularly Tarry Hum, Raquel Rolnik, Kimberly Libman and Jen Jack Gieseking, as well as Manuel Aalbers who I also thank for organizing this symposium. The research would not have been possible without funding from the US National Science Foundation’s Geography and Spatial Science program (award #1002780). Finally, I am grateful to the three anonymous reviewers for their feedback on an earlier version of this article, which encouraged me to think through and strengthen the conclusions drawn from this research. All errors remain my own.
© 2017 urban research publications limited
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Private equity funds have taken advantage of sharp price drops, surging rental demand and constrained mortgage credit to buy distressed real estate assets, convert them into rental housing and roll out novel rent-backed financial instruments (Fields et al., 2016). Tenants’ homes may be subject to financialization even though residents themselves do not have mortgages. This article explores the emergence of rental housing as a new frontier for financialization, how this process unfolded in New York City during the years leading up to and immediately after the 2008 financial crisis, and how it reshaped tenants’ social, emotional and embodied experience of home.
Whereas private equity firms only discovered single-family rental post-2008, they had established themselves in New York City’s rental market in the years leading up to the crisis. New York has been characterized as a testing ground for neoliberal urban restructuring, experimentation made possible by its 1970s fiscal crisis (Harvey, 2005; Moody, 2007). Three decades later, the city’s mid-2000s real estate boom, together with the incomplete dismantling of postwar-era state rent protections in the 1990s, created the conditions for another round of experimentation: private equity firms, in concert with local banks and landlords, set about transforming the city’s rent-regulated housing1 into a novel asset class for capital seeking investment opportunities, subjecting tenants to harassment, displacement and unsafe living conditions to extract financial yield. Staged in the heart of global finance, this experiment––dubbed ‘predatory equity’ by housing advocates––represents an important step towards incorporating rental housing into global circuits of capital. Considering its outcomes will therefore advance thinking about the financialization of rental housing more generally.
Based on New York City’s experience of private equity investment in its affordable rental sector, this article examines the links between rental housing as a new frontier for global private equity funds, the local conditions facilitating this process and the experiences of tenants as subjects of financialization. In this article, I first address the changing political economy of housing in the context of financialization, how the retreat of the welfare state in advanced economies has created opportunities for financializing affordable rental housing globally, and the transformation of New York’s rent-regulated housing from financial backwater to frontier for capital from the 1990s through the early to mid-2000s. I then discuss tenants as unwilling subjects of financialization and how this process transforms the social relations of home. After an overview of methods and data, I show how the financialization of rent-regulated housing proceeded during the mid-2000s boom years, how the 2008 financial crisis tipped many such investments into financial distress and the resulting impact on tenants.
Drawing inspiration from Langley’s (2007) account of ‘uncertain’ middle-class subjects of financialization, I conclude by reflecting on tenants as unwilling subjects of financialization, swept into the process without their consent. Predatory equity deals relied on ‘voodoo economics’ (Christophers, 2010): the fallacy of neatly extracting financial value without disturbing the use values with which it is inevitably and inextricably enmeshed. The investments appear to exemplify Sassen’s (2014a) thesis that advanced capitalism seeks to ‘cast ordinary people out of what had been their lives’. Yet Sassen (2014b), locating contemporary expulsions and dispossessions in the breakdown of Keynesian capitalism, neglects today’s existing opportunities for contestation and transformation (Gillespie, 2015). In contrast, Hodkinson (2012: 515) reveals enclosure (the other side of the expulsion coin, the canvas for accumulation achieved through expulsion) as an ongoing capitalist process, arguing that ‘capital must enclose because we are continuously resisting and moving outside its logic’. This perspective supports understanding financialization as a fragmented and incomplete project (Langley, 2008) rather than a top-down and hegemonic one. Consequently when I speak of tenants as unwilling subjects of financialization, I emphasize unwillingness not
1 Rent regulations protect tenants in the city’s older (pre-1974) multi-family (6 or more units) rental housing
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just as lack of consent, but also refusal. This moves us towards an understanding of how financialization generates subjectivities of dissent through collective lived experiences.
Rental housing as new global frontier for financialization
Over the past 20 years, liberalized national financial markets and advances in telecommunications have resulted in unprecedented levels of global capital mobility and integration of financial markets (Obstfeld and Taylor, 2004; Harvey, 2010; Stockhammer, 2012). Financial products including real estate investment trusts (allowing investors to buy shares of real estate on public exchanges) and mortgage securitization (making it possible to buy a share of future income from bundled mortgage payments) have become mainstream and global. By opening real estate investment to actors (such as sovereign wealth funds and pension funds) without knowledge of local market conditions, these developments transform the political economy of housing: institutional investors can take advantage of real estate investment opportunities at a global scale, capitalizing on advantageous market conditions wherever they may exist. In the low-yield, high- liquidity global economic context of the mid-2000s, it was institutional investors’ search for yield via real estate-backed financial products such as mortgage derivatives that helped fuel the subprime mortgage crisis of 2007–08 (Ashton, 2009; Newman, 2009).
In tandem with the globalization and financialization of real estate, states have offloaded responsibility for affordable rental housing to the market. For advanced capitalist states, subsidizing or regulating rental housing may not offer a strategic advantage: in Sassen’s (2014b) view, the transition from industrial to advanced capitalism has devalued people as workers and consumers because accumulation is no longer organized around mass production and mass consumption. Many advanced capitalist nations have scaled back social welfare, limiting the ‘availability and desirability of socialized housing’ (Roberts, 2013: 23) through neglect and inadequate maintenance, demolition, privatization and deregulation (Crump, 2002; Turner and Whitehead, 2002; Aalbers and Holm, 2008; Wyly et al., 2010). As a replacement for social welfare, asset-based welfare––particularly homeownership––serves the needs of financial capitalism by providing a steady stream of debtors attempting to secure their futures, and thus the raw materials for mortgage-backed securities (Newman, 2009; Roberts, 2013; Montgomerie and Büdenbender, 2014).
The shift of social housing to the private market has also created opportunities for financialization within the rental sector. Privatization of German public housing companies in the 1990s led to entire portfolios being transferred to private equity firms (Fields and Uffer, 2016; Bernt, 2017, this issue). Meanwhile, loosened state regulations have allowed social housing associations in the Netherlands to use their real estate holdings and rental income as collateral for investments in complex financial instruments (Aalbers et al., 2017, this issue). The financialization of homeownership ensured homes could become ‘a site of accumulation and an object of leveraged investment’ (Allon, 2010: 368; see also Martin, 2002; Langley, 2007; Aalbers, 2008). But these examples confirm that even a resource like affordable rental housing, which has historically offered some security against unfettered market forces, is not impermeable to similar financial accumulation strategies. They also highlight how efforts to transform rental housing into an investment object for finance capital are geographically and historically contingent, shaped in part by local institutional contexts, processes to which I now turn.
Rent-stabilized housing: from financial backwater to frontier for capital
The mid-2000s explosion of global liquidity drove investors to higher risk and opportunistic strategies, fueling a private equity boom (Acharya et al., 2007). Under pressure to find new deals, private equity firms paid inflated prices for companies they loaded with debt just ahead of the 2008 crisis (Blundell-Wignall, 2007; Creswell, 2008). This dynamic also characterizes private equity’s mid-2000s entrance into New York’s rent-stabilized housing sector. In an example of the financialization of a non-financial
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sector (Aalbers, 2017, this issue), firms acquired thousands of large, old, multi-family buildings, pursuing ‘value-added’ and/or ‘opportunistic’ private equity real estate investment strategies. These strategies emphasize high rates of return (12–18% for value-added, 18% + for opportunistic) through rent growth (value-added) and heavy leverage (opportunistic) (Kaiser, 2005; Shilling and Wurtzebach, 2012).2 But without the partial deregulation of rent-regulated housing, it is unlikely private equity firms would have seen the possibility to liberate value ‘trapped’ within the properties.
New York State rent regulations have been in place since the 1940s. They apply only during a ‘housing emergency’ (defined as a vacancy rate of less than 5%), but are an enduring feature of the New York City housing landscape because of its historically tight rental market (New York State Division of Housing and Community Renewal, 1993). Regulations on rent-controlled and rent-stabilized units3 mediate between tenants seeking secure tenure, habitability and protection from excessive rent increases, and property owners seeking a return on their investment (Collins, 2014). Tenant and landlord representatives on the Rent Guidelines Board set increases for rent- stabilized units (45% of the city’s private rental stock, nearly a million units as of 2011) annually. For low- and moderate-income renters, the regulations make an otherwise unaffordable market more bearable, giving them a claim to space in a city the last mayor sought to position as a luxury product (Brash, 2011). The limits on rent increases that make rent-stabilized housing a haven from the market also historically made it a low- pressure, low-competition ‘financial backwater’: annual returns are low but relatively stable, encouraging long-term ownership rather than the short-termism more characteristic of private equity funds (Association for Neighborhood and Housing Development, 2009: 7, hereafter ANHD).
The possibility for this financial backwater to become an investment object for private equity firms is linked to the state’s changing stake in social reproduction. After the urban crisis of the 1970s and turbulent 1980s, capital began to flow back into New York’s urban core in the 1990s as housing and neighborhood conditions improved (in large part due to significant public expenditure on rehabilitation of vacant and aban- doned land and housing, see Schill et al., 2002) and the financial and business services sectors grew. However, advocates of making government smaller, more efficient and more entrepreneurial viewed the state as slow to adapt to the city’s changing market context and thus an obstacle to further capital investment (Andersen, 1995; Allred, 2000).
Framing rent regulations as a symbol of big government, the real estate sector successfully lobbied to scale back the state-level laws, with Republican lawmakers extracting key decontrol provisions when rent regulations were up for renewal in 1993 (Dreier and Pitcoff, 1997). The most important provision was high rent/vacancy decontrol, under which units renting for US $2,000 per month or more upon vacancy4 could be deregulated entirely to rent at whatever rate the market dictated. In 1997, the price for extending rent regulation laws was the institution of a vacancy rent increase allowance entitling landlords to increase rents by up to 20% upon vacancy (more when long-term tenants departed) (Collins, 2014).5
The 1990s weakening of rent regulations came just before the dual surge, from 2000 to 2008, of new residential development (much of it luxury housing) and home
2 Without access to investment prospectuses, it is difficult to definitively classify the strategies of firms entering New York City’s rent-regulated market; it is likely that both value-added and opportunistic strategies were in play and that boundaries between the two are blurred (Kaiser, 2005).
3 Rent control is an older system of rent regulation applying to apartments in multi-unit buildings constructed before 1947 and in which the tenant has continuously resided since before 1971. Today there are fewer than 40,000 rent- controlled apartments in New York City. The more recent and larger system of rent stabilization applies to multi-unit buildings constructed between 1947 and 1971, or those built before 1947 where tenants moved in after 1971. This article focuses on rent-stabilized buildings.
4 This ceiling was raised to US $2,500 in 2011 and US $2,700 in 2015.
5 The Rent Act of 2015 set limits on the vacancy rent increase allowance dependent on whether the vacating tenant
was paying a preferential rent and when the last vacancy commenced.
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mortgage financing (particularly subprime loans). Made possible, respectively, by extensive rezoning under the Bloomberg mayoralty (Brash, 2011) and expanded credit and loosened underwriting nationally, these trends ‘pressured and surrounded the city’s low-cost rental market [with] overheated, highly leveraged ownership’ (Wyly et al., 2010: 2611). Meanwhile, deregulation of rent-stabilized units had become a viable reality and vacancy bonuses provided a mechanism to move rents towards deregulation and onto the open market.
The 2000s development and mortgage booms plus the partial deregulation of rent protections in the 1990s therefore worked in synergy, transforming rent-regulated housing from financial backwater to frontier for capital (see Bernt, this issue for further discussion of interactions between financialization and local and national state restructuring). The former brought opportunities to circulate capital through the built environment near saturation point; the latter attracted new financial actors motivated to release value from buildings where legal protections that kept rents below market rates had been weakened. From the perspective of private equity firms, possibly emboldened by a local political context that privileged corporate and financial interests (Brash, 2011), rent-stabilized properties represented an underperforming asset they could release or redevelop for enhanced yield. Of course, as Christophers (2010: 102) argues, this is a mystification that obscures how these assets are ‘messily entangled with everyday use’; financializing projects proceed by such mystifications.
Unwilling subjects of financialization
The space between underperformance and enhanced yield for asset managers is also the space between stable and precarious housing for tenants in rent-stabilized buildings. The investment strategy that came to be known as predatory equity shows how financialization can incorporate even spaces and populations heretofore difficult to enroll in finance, such as rental housing and tenants. While the rise of finance and the turn towards asset-based welfare has increasingly normalized investment and calculation as part of everyday life for the middle class and its aspirants (Martin, 2002), the loss of homes in the foreclosure crisis underlines how ‘uncertain’ these subjects of financialization are: their performance as investors is easily compromised by needs called into being by identities as parents, caretakers and providers (Langley, 2007; 2008). As financialization encloses new territories, these processes of subjectification also shift. Unlike homeowners, tenants are not merely uncertain subjects of financialization, but unwilling ones, almost incidental to a process taking place without their knowledge or consent.
The effort to extract yield by closing the space between tenants’ security and precarity speaks to the role stable housing plays in self-identity and wellbeing. The threat of losing one’s housing undermines its defining features as material context for familial life and everyday activities, site of refuge and control, and identity and social status constructed in and through the home (Dupuis and Thorns, 1998; Hiscock et al., 2001; Saegert et al., 2009). In other words, housing made precarious contradicts the very ontology of home, putting wellbeing at risk by destabilizing that which
‘gives shape and meaning to people’s everyday lives’ (Imrie, 2004: 746). This draws our attention to how normative traditional associations of home with rootedness, belonging and comfort are––and their neglect of how home is often the site of fear, alienation and ambivalence (Manzo, 2003; Blunt and Varley, 2004). Further, the ability to have (or provide) a home conforming with this normative ontology of home is heavily contingent on race, gender, class and geographic location. Thus predatory equity investments represent precarity and alienation both at the scale of individual relationships with home and in a broader sense: to treat this affordable housing resource as a financial asset is to further fray the already tenuous claims the working poor have upon place in New York, and thus their place in the city. In the remainder
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of this article, I detail how and where predatory equity unfolded in the boom years before the 2008 crisis, the downturn such deals subsequently underwent, and how this reshaped tenants’ social, emotional and embodied experience of home. But first an overview of the methods and data informing this account of rental housing as a new frontier for financialization will prove useful.
Research context
The three subsequent empirical sections incorporate several primary and secondary data sources. The first section recounts how predatory equity unfolded by drawing on reports produced by community-based organizations, including the
Association for Neighborhood and Housing Development (ANHD), the University Neighborhood Housing Program (UNHP) and the Center for Urban Pedagogy in conjunction with the Urban Homesteading Assistance Board (UHAB) and Tenants Together. These groups were at the forefront of building awareness of predatory equity and worked closely with affected tenants. This section also maps the geography of predatory equity with primary data from the Overleveraged Property Database, provided by the Local Initiatives Support Corporation. The database includes approximately 1,100 buildings UHAB and ANHD identified as overleveraged (i.e. indebted beyond what rental income could support). Built from the ground up, based on grassroots efforts to track market activity, research property owners and organize tenants, the database is necessarily incomplete and includes not only private equity owners, but a broader group of landlords engaged in irresponsible real estate practices. Nevertheless it remains the best measure of a difficult to gauge phenomenon (see Fields, 2015).
The second empirical section uses primary data to highlight changes in property distress from 2008 to 2010 for all multi-family properties in New York City, properties in neighborhoods with a high prevalence of overleveraged buildings and properties directly affected by overleveraging. The data comes from the Building Indicator Project (BIP), a holistic measure of distress in multi-family properties using public data on housing code violations and property liens. UNHP developed the BIP to monitor the status of affordable multi-family housing as real estate prices started rising in the early 2000s (UNHP, 2011). BIP data from 2008 to 2010 cross-referenced with the Overleveraged Properties Database shows how the financial crisis affected distress levels of rent-regulated properties purchased by predatory investors. This section also includes a case study of the Ocelot portfolio (comprising 25 Bronx buildings bought by a private equity firm immediately prior the crisis) which unraveled after 2008. The case study shows how financialization prolonged tenants’ suffering in the aftermath of the crisis.
The final empirical section draws on three focus groups conducted in 2011 with 14 tenants from a group of Bronx buildings bought in 2007 by private equity real estate firm Milbank, which went into foreclosure in 2009. As a method that promotes interaction and exchange through participants’ conversations about their shared experience (Morgan, 1995; Wilkinson, 1999), focus groups mirrored the meetings of the tenants’ association (to which most participants belonged) where tenants discussed the issues they faced and debated how to act on their situation. With participants’ buildings in physical and financial distress in the wake of the 2008 financial crisis, the aim of the focus groups was to understand how the unraveling of these investments affected tenants’ social, emotional and embodied experience of home. Representing six of the 18 Milbank portfolio buildings, all participants were either black (five participants) or Hispanic (nine participants) and ten were female. Participants ranged from 25 to 75 years of age, with a median age of 41. While some participants had only moved in since 2008, others were long-term residents (25 years or more). I analyzed the focus group transcripts for themes relating to the material and socio-emotional characteristics of the home, and how these aspects of housing connected to family and social relationships and health.
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The entrance of private equity
Private equity firms began to aggressively target the city’s rent-stabilized housing around 2005, as part of a larger private equity boom riding a wave of low-interest credit and an ‘unprecedented supply of leverage’ fueled by petrodollars, Asian government surpluses plus pension, foundation and private wealth (Acharya et al., 2007: 46). Firms like Milbank Real Estate, a company more typically focused on commercial and retail rather than residential opportunities, framed New York’s last bastions of affordable rent as ‘positioned to undergo significant gentrification’ (Milbank Real Estate, 2007). They identified poorly managed rent-stabilized properties as assets that would have ‘added value for investors’ after infusing capital and ‘aggressively pursuing the collection of past-due rents’ to improve the tenant base and increase rental income (ibid.). Firms such as Ocelot Capital Group, Dawnay Day, SG2, Apollo and BlackRock Realty Advisors also assembled portfolios of rent-stabilized properties in large-scale deals, often taking over portfolios from operators who had spent decades amassing significant property holdings and sold out at the peak of the market (Haughney, 2009).
Affordable housing advocates estimate private equity firms purchased 100,000 units, or about 10% of the city’s rent-regulated housing, between 2005 and 2009 (ANHD, 2009). Expectations of increased rental income as outlined on Milbank’s website inflated purchase prices beyond even the booming property values characterizing the mid-2000s, loading properties with high levels of debt. An analysis of ten major portfolios covering 27,000 rental units involved in such deals found an average of only 55 cents of income for every dollar of debt service (ibid.), suggesting the pursuit of opportunistic investment strategies. Mortgages in such cases were underwritten
‘pro forma’, or based on projected income growth rather than historical or current rates of return (UNHP, 2011; Teresa, 2016). Investors sought to release untapped value by closing the gap between lower stabilized rents and higher market-rate prices. Meeting expectations for income growth required repositioning properties by encouraging tenant attrition and upgrading units until they were released from rent regulations (Center for Urban Pedagogy, 2009).
Predatory equity strategy exemplifies how capital market expectations for asset growth are frequently incompatible with single-digit growth in real product markets (Froud et al., 2000, cited in French et al., 2011). Whereas double-digit yield targets and a short timeframe (as brief as three years in the case of opportunistic funds) characterize real estate private equity (Ernst & Young, 2002), annual returns on rent-stabilized properties are generally no more than 7–8% due to regulations on rent increases (ANHD, 2009). Extracting greater returns over a shorter timeframe would depend on increasing rents to the point of deregulating stabilized units, either by passing on the cost of major capital improvements to tenants or garnering vacancy bonuses. While turnover of rent-stabilized units is typically 5–10% per year, many deals assumed tenant turnover rates of 20–30% or more a year (ibid.). Meeting these investment objectives would entail significant disruption to tenants’ lives and fragmentation of social communities anchored by long-term residents.
Indeed, as private equity funds made headway into the rent-regulated sector, community-based organizations experienced an increase in harassment complaints from tenants in the neighborhoods targeted for investment, including parts of upper Manhattan, the west Bronx, and central and south Brooklyn (see Figure 1). With rent-stabilized tenants standing in the way of projected returns, investors sought to encourage attrition and secure vacancy bonuses by refusing to make repairs inside units, issuing building-wide eviction notices and baseless lawsuits for unpaid rent, making aggressive buy-out offers and threatening to call immigration authorities (Morgenson, 2008; ANHD, 2009; Powell, 2011). Housing advocates termed the investments ‘predatory equity’ to highlight the aggressive tactics of the actors involved and the extractive nature of investments dependent upon reducing affordable rental housing stock in
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 Neighborhoods with hi
19 7
2
8 10
BROOKLYN
a city where half of tenants are burdened by housing costs (Furman Center for Real Estate and Urban Policy, 2014). Predatory equity may therefore be considered an effort to generate capitalist wealth by ‘plundering the very spaces of existence of the working poor’ (Wright, 2014: 3).
A crisis of excess finance capital
Once the 2008 financial crisis hit, many funds could (or would) not cover both debt service and property maintenance, particularly since reduced property prices and the credit freeze made refinancing untenable. Several large portfolios went into foreclosure, effectively abandoned by their private equity owners. Harassment and inadequate maintenance gave way to rapid and extreme property deterioration. As one tenant organizer explained, before the financial crisis bad conditions were clearly a tactic to induce tenant turnover, but conditions post-2008 deteriorated quickly as firms ran out of money and faced heightened scrutiny from city agencies (prompted by tenant harassment complaints). Tightened credit and heightened financial strain increased the rate of distress (as measured by BIP data) from 2.8% to 5.5% of all multi- family properties in the city between 2008 and 2010, but neighborhoods and properties affected by predatory equity started off with higher rates of distress and experienced much greater increases in distress. In the 11 neighborhoods with the highest prevalence of predatory equity investments, the distress rate for multi-family properties increased from 4.3% to 9.6% from 2008 to 2010. But within those neighborhoods, the rate of distress on properties directly affected by highly leveraged purchases skyrocketed from 7% to 21% over the same period (see Figure 2).
These data suggest investors may have targeted poorly maintained and managed properties––a relic of earlier landlords who profited from lax documentation and leasing,
BRONX
          MANHATTAN
                                                       2.5 mi
 figure 1
Prevalence of overleveraged private equity investments in NYC rental properties, 2011 (sources: overleveraged properties database, Local Initiatives Support Corporation; occupied rental units, New York City 2008 Housing and Vacancy Survey)
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Percent of multifamily buildings in distress, 2008
Percent of multifamily buildings in distress, 2010
5.5 2.8
New York City
9.6
4.3
21
7
         High-prevalence NYC neighborhoods
Overleveraged properties in high-prevalence neighborhoods
figure 2 Changes in multi-family distress as measured by property liens and housing code violations (sources: LISC overleveraged properties database and Building Indicator Project)
turning a blind eye to tenants whose names weren’t on the lease in exchange for a steady stream of rent payments and residents keeping quiet about inadequate maintenance and repairs. In this sense, the deals correspond to an opportunistic real estate private equity strategy of acquiring distressed assets. The history of poor management of rent-stabilized properties was a resource private equity firms could use to enhance yield, often illegally (e.g. systematic harassment to encourage tenant attrition). The neighborhoods primarily targeted for investment are predominantly African-American and Hispanic (80% of residents from high-prevalence neighborhoods came from one of these minority groups, compared to about half across New York City as a whole) and low-income (in all high-prevalence neighborhoods, the median income was less than twice the poverty level, indicating low-income status). Consequently the impact of predatory equity was severest for poor neighborhoods of color. Residents of directly affected buildings experienced several waves of exploitation: first, poor property maintenance and disrepair under earlier owners; second, a forcible effort (masquerading as revitalization) to subvert the legal protections allowing them to remain there; finally, after the financial crisis, a new threat to their claim to space as those unwilling or unable to move saw their homes crumble around them.
Three decades after disinvestment and urban capital flight transformed the city’s rental housing into a landscape of burned-out, abandoned and deteriorated properties, some buildings physically resembled those of the 1970s. However, this time the crisis was caused not by capital flight, but an excess of finance capital. Unlike the 1970s, properties affected by predatory equity were not only physically distressed, they were also weighed down by multi-million-dollar mortgages. Divergent responses to this financial distress ultimately prolonged the time tenants spent in a precarious housing situation in two ways.
The first occurred as ‘good actors’ (e.g. community-based developers and afford- able housing companies) sought to assume ownership of distressed buildings for preser- vation as affordable housing. This process takes years, requiring the ability to leverage large amounts of capital, buy and complete foreclosure on the distressed mortgage, and rehabilitate the properties (Fields, 2015). In 2006, New York-based Ocelot Capital bought
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a group of 25 Bronx buildings for US $39 million with Israeli private equity backing and financing from Deutsche Bank and Dime Savings Bank, but by 2007 ‘virtually all services came to a complete stop’ as the debt proved unserviceable and Ocelot went bankrupt (Levy, 2011). Left holding a US $29 million Deutsche Bank mortgage on 19 properties (Dime Savings Bank held another loan on six remaining buildings), Fannie Mae initiated foreclosure proceedings in early 2009.6 Public pressure from tenant advocates and local politicians prevented Fannie Mae from auctioning the distressed mortgage on Debt-X, an online debt trading site for large financial institutions and institutional investors. Once the city stepped in with rehabilitation funds, Fannie Mae agreed to take a substantial loss on a sale to a preservation buyer and, in 2010, 14 of the 19 buildings were transferred to for-profit affordable housing company Omni New York (Fields, 2015). Omni purchased the debt for US $5 million (a discount of more than US $20 million), agreeing to reha- bilitate the properties and adhere to affordability requirements for 40 years (Levy, 2011). Although technically a ‘win’, in this scenario tenants were subject to inhumane living conditions and kept in limbo for years as government agencies, community housing advocates and financial institutions debated how best to dispose of unsustainable debt.
However, distressed mortgages also became objects of speculation for ‘vulture funds’ purchasing debt at a discount. This high-risk, but potentially high-payoff, investment strategy hinges on funds turning the enterprise around or reselling the debt at a mark-up. While beneficial for banks able to unload distressed debt and attractive for investors, this process heightened and prolonged the precarity of tenants’ existence. In 2009, Dime Savings Bank transferred US $13.5 million of distressed debt on six of the Ocelot portfolio properties (comprising 260 dwellings) at face value to Hunter, a property management company backed by a Japanese private equity fund, which soon began to buckle under the weight of the mortgage (ibid.). After Hunter defaulted on the mortgage in 2010, the debt changed hands again, going to Bluestone Group for US $10 million; despite the 26% discount from the debt’s face value, the price generated concerns Bluestone would be unable to fund repairs at the properties, which at that point had 2,936 outstanding housing code violations (Massey and Fung, 2010).
But Bluestone didn’t intend to keep the debt, marketing it at US $16 million within 12 months of acquisition, despite the properties’ 1,384 outstanding housing code violations (Massey and Fung, 2011). Although another 1,000 violations were resolved by the time the debt (and thus the properties) sold to a local landlord for US $18 million (a 30% mark-up from the original US $13.5 million mortgage), Bluestone did little to address the properties’ systemic underlying problems (Pincus, 2011). By this point, tenants remaining at the six buildings had been exposed to dangerous, virtually uninhabitable, living conditions for over three years, and were fearful the purchase price would prevent the new owner from undertaking desperately needed major repairs (Chiwaya et al., 2011). This case underlines how the divergence between the exchange value of housing-backed financial assets and the use value of housing itself exposes the working poor to violence that contradicts their ability to carry out their everyday existence. I now turn to a more detailed examination of tenants’ experience as investments fell apart post-2008, focusing on the Milbank portfolio.
A struggle for everyday existence
In 2007, Milbank Real Estate purchased 18 buildings in the Kingsbridge area of the northwest Bronx with a US $35 million mortgage from Deutsche Bank. The loan was securitized and sold on to La Salle Bank after origination, then sold again to Wells Fargo Bank in 2008. By March 2009, Milbank defaulted on their mortgage obligations. Based on the terms of the security’s pooling and service agreement, LNR Property Corporation
6 Fannie Mae, a government-sponsored enterprise, played a central role in the expansion of the secondary mortgage market through buying loans from lenders.
UNWILLING SUBJECTS OF FINANCIALIZATION 11
became special servicer for the debt, foreclosure proceedings began and the court appointed a receiver for the properties. While the buildings were by then in an extreme state of disrepair, it took a needs assessment finding it would cost US $19 million to restore habitable conditions (Baer Architecture Group, 2010), a subpoena from the city for information on ownership, management and maintenance, and an order from the Bronx Supreme Court before LNR spent US $2.5 million on repairs in 2010 (Barbanel, 2010). The city’s Department of Housing Preservation and Development also filed liens against the properties for US $80,000 of public funds spent on emergency repairs. In February 2011, Scarsdale, NY landlord Steven Finkelstein purchased the properties for US $28 million, assessing they needed only US $6.8 million in rehabilitation costs. I held focus groups with Milbank tenants in the spring and summer of 2011, as Finkelstein was taking control of the properties.
In line with the quantitative data on property distress cited in the preceding section, long-term residents noted their buildings experienced inept management under various owners since the 1980s, but that a wholesale deterioration in their living conditions began just after the financial crisis. Participants had the impression Milbank was at best poorly run or at worst exploitative: the company sometimes told tenants they hadn’t received their rent checks when in fact they had already cashed them, and while Milbank management told tenants they were ‘trying to get the books together to give us heat and hot water and do the necessary repairs that had to be done’, the repairs never happened. Participants marked the winter of 2009–10 as a low point, when they often went for weeks without heating or hot water. As a result they were prevented from carrying out life’s basic tasks: ‘You come home, and you’re frustrated already because for the last three days you haven’t been able to take a decent bath ... you really don’t want to turn around and have to warm up water to carry it to the bathroom to wash up’. The lack of heating and hot water meant home was incompatible with rest and relaxation: ‘You can’t be comfortable––you don’t even have an apartment where you can go and listen to music because it’s so freezing in the house’. Many relied on friends and family members to provide a warm place to sleep or hot water for showers, experiencing this time as both miserable and infuriating.
It was common for ceilings to cave in due to water damage, and for gaps and holes in walls to go unrepaired, allowing infestations of rats, mice and cockroaches to spread easily. A young man living with his mother and sister described how wearying it was for his family to adjust their routines to accommodate this deterioration: ‘Always have to be buying mousetraps, and putting them all around in the kitchen, in the hallways, so that was very, very tiring ... you can’t even leave food, to this day, on top of the stove because rats come in through the stove’. Another participant explained how unpredictable elevator service intersected with her asthma to complicate basic errands: ‘I’m on the fifth floor, so when we didn’t have the elevator, that got tiring. I’m an asthmatic. That killed me some days to walk up and down the stairs ... I couldn’t go food shopping properly, because I couldn’t do anything properly’. Elevator service also hindered the mobility of elderly tenants: ‘I use a cane ... you come downstairs on the elevator––“oh, I can go shopping”––go shopping, come back, and no elevator’. Those with physical disabilities were similarly affected: ‘The lady upstairs has a son in a wheelchair. She has to bring him down the stairs for school ... a lady, carrying her son down the stairs because the elevators don’t work’.
All Milbank tenants were more or less accustomed to some level of wear and tear in their housing: many had lived in the Bronx during its most intense years of disinvestment, and most reported incomes that would limit their housing options to the lower end of the market. But even these seasoned tenants characterized their living conditions as inexcusable: ‘You always find with buildings that something breaks ... they have a leak, or got some walls falling, things deteriorate, and that’s understandable ... what happened in my building, none of that should have happened. That’s too much’.
FIELDS 12
At the same time, needing to keep a roof over their heads, many continued to pay rent, despite feeling ‘mad at the world’ for the way they were living: participants’ low incomes and the high cost of housing and moving limited their options. Giving voice to the extractive nature of the investments, participants felt investors ‘just saw opportunity
... all they want is the money, and take the money out of the neighborhood, out of the community, and they don’t spend nothing on any upkeep or nothing’. Home became something participants had to bear, certainly not a source of comfort, dignity and respite from the world. Beyond this, they were also aware their experience was the result of investors viewing their humanity as incidental to meeting targets for yield.
The collapse of financially unsustainable investments was borne out not just in burst pipes, electrical fires and elevator failures, but in tenants’ physical health, family relationships at home and social relationships outside the home. In terms of physical health, those with asthma described flare-ups they attributed to mold and mildew from unrepaired leaks, infestations of rodents and other vermin, and increased dust, plaster and paint in the air from degraded walls and ceilings: ‘At one point I went to the emergency room ... if those conditions weren’t there, then I probably wouldn’t have had to go to the emergency room, or my doctor several times’. Others also described family members developing symptoms of asthma. But many participants and their families simply felt constantly sick and run down: ‘[My kids] always got some kind of cold or something, because of those fumes or whatever, and the dust coming in’.
The stresses accompanying these living conditions strained family relations and social relationships outside the home. Young people coped by staying away: ‘When a lot of that was happening, I wasn’t coming home a lot. I would stay out ... I would hang out outside until one in the morning. I would sleep at my friend’s house ... my mom would think that I was dabbling in drugs’. One participant painted a vivid picture of how, after bathing with water he’d heated himself, ‘smoke is coming out of your nose because you’re so frustrated ... And there’s the fight, there’s the stress, there’s the arguments, there’s the destruction of family life’. As difficulties with the most basic tasks of everyday life piled up, patience ran short, resulting in familial tensions. Tenants’ social relationships also began to break down. Not only did participants not want to be at home themselves, they didn’t want to invite friends into their homes: ‘I didn’t want to come home. I wouldn’t bring anyone to my house’. Others echoed this sentiment, feeling
‘ashamed’ and ‘embarrassed to bring friends home, because the place is so falling down’. In the wreckage of investors’ efforts to transform rent-regulated housing into a new vehicle for capital accumulation, tenants felt powerless and stripped of dignity as
they struggled to sustain the activities of everyday life. Whether remaining out of deter- mination to assert their claim on space or a lack of other options, tenants faced daily challenges in caring for themselves and their families. This threatened their roles as parents, spouses, caretakers and providers, leading to frayed family and social relations. The experiences of tenants affected by predatory equity link the global process of the financialization of rental housing with its on-the-ground consequences for life at home.
Conclusion
In many advanced capitalist economies, it is increasingly possible to treat rental housing that has historically given poor people a claim on urban space as a financial asset. Connecting this global trend with how it has unfolded in a particular place, this
article examined the financialization of rent-regulated housing in New York City in the boom years leading up to the 2008 financial crisis, and how the subsequent collapse of this wave of private equity buyouts subjected tenants to years of living in inhumane conditions and limbo as to the fate of their homes. The article advances the literature on the financialization of home at a moment when rental housing is emerging as a frontier for this process. By developing the ties between predatory investment strategies, the poor and minority neighborhoods they most affected, and how tenants experienced
UNWILLING SUBJECTS OF FINANCIALIZATION 13
financialization on a bodily, emotional and relational level, this timely research moves the study of financialization beyond the sites and voices of financial elites (Pollard, 2012). Yet it is crucial to do so without treating ‘housing merely as a “commodity”’ or
reducing ‘relations between people––the people who own, build, rent, and live in houses ... to the politically and analytically impoverished status of relationships between things’ (Aalbers and Christophers, 2014: 7, original emphasis). While the case of predatory equity can be read as a textbook example of an attempt to accumulate by dispossession, such a reading risks reifying finance as an inexorable force, subordinating social relations and closing off potential for contesting and making conflict with financialization (Langley, 2008; Allon, 2010). Therefore, to conclude, I reflect on how financialization generates dissent, drawing on the concepts of fictitious capital and voodoo economics
(Christophers, 2010) to theorize tenants as unwilling subjects of financialization.
At the core of predatory equity investments was the conceit that it would be possible to release, then extract, value that (weakened) rent regulations trapped within apartment buildings, evident in the framing of rent-stabilized apartments as ‘underperforming assets’ that could generate value through being repositioned on the open market (Milbank Real Estate, 2007; Powell, 2011). These discourses exemplify Christophers’ (2010: 103) contention of ‘voodoo economics’ or the mystification that it is easily possible to draw a ‘hard-and-fast line between properties and the acts of living in them’. Voodoo economics enable financializing policies and practices such as, in this case, leveraging capital based on assumed tenant turnover rates that far outpaced reality in rent-stabilized units (20–30% versus 5–10% annually). Going further, as Teresa (2016: 468) argues, like ‘all capital circulating through land’, the capital leveraged for
predatory equity investments, based on anticipation of future rents yet to be extracted, ‘is inherently fictitious’. In the contradiction at the heart of voodoo economics and the uncertainty that defines fictitious capital are sources of fragilities within the process of financialization and limits from without. Especially where capital gains are pursued through highly leveraged purchases, as with opportunistic real estate private equity strategies, falling prices spell catastrophic results (Christophers, 2015b). Such fragilities ensure financialization is not inevitable, but always a practical accomplishment in the
making (Langley, 2008; Christophers, 2015a; Ouma, 2016).
Indeed, the dissolution of the speculative promise of fictitious capital in the
wider financial crisis pulled back the curtain on the voodoo economics propelling predatory equity investments, revealing the dangers of reducing the urban landscape to a set of financial criteria. The inability of investors to meet mortgage obligations, struggles between different actors over how best to resolve troubled mortgages and the targeting of the same troubled mortgages as investment objects by ‘vulture funds’ all spilled over into renters’ lives, rendering home increasingly precarious and insecure. Subjecting spaces of everyday life and social reproduction to financial imperatives leaves urban inhabitants vulnerable to ‘the vicissitudes of the gains enterprise’ (Christophers, 2015b: 11). In this sense we can understand tenants as unwilling subjects of financialization. Where Langley (2007) stresses the contradictions that make middle-class investors and homeowners uncertain subjects of financialization, here I emphasize how financializing practices constitute other segments of society as subjects without their knowledge or consent. However, these attempts at enclosure are not always successful and inevitably instantiate opposition (Hodkinson, 2012). Unwillingness does not necessarily translate to being overtaken; it also connotes reluctance, opposition and struggle.
As predatory equity deals failed and the bricks-and-mortar properties attached to distressed loans deteriorated, political opportunities emerged. For example, in the face of Fannie Mae’s attempt to auction off the Ocelot portfolio’s distressed mortgage debt, tenants and community organizations insisted on the materiality of housing and its ontological status as home, conducting guided tours of deteriorated buildings for local politicians and posting signs warning speculators to stay away (Fields, 2015). Such direct
FIELDS 14
actions to contest the financialization of home hinged on tenants’ collective experience of predatory equity and how these experiences brought their unwilling subjectivity into being: ‘They need to know that we are together. We’re going to work together, and we’re going to fight together’. Thus a defining element of tenants as unwilling subjects of financialization is shared exposure to and experience of this process, which can cultivate a critical and oppositional consciousness that motivates coordinated action to disrupt financializing projects (Colau and Alemany, 2014). The concept of tenants as unwilling subjects of financialization developed in this article provides an entry point for analyses of how this process meets with dissent in the form of organized urban activism (for more in-depth analyses, see Fields, 2015; Teresa, 2016).
As financialization processes continue to colonize the spaces of everyday life in the wake of the global financial crisis, this research confirms social reproduction as a fundamental site for contemporary urban social struggles (Harvey, 2012; Aalbers and Christophers, 2014; Wright, 2014). Yet its rootedness in a specific time and place raises questions about the extent to which this case study can shed light on the broader financialization of rental housing taking place in the post-crisis landscape of the US and elsewhere. First, it must be noted that New York has a long history of tenant struggles and uprisings (Lawson 1986); the infrastructure of community groups that emerged in response to the disinvestment of the 1970s played an important role in contesting pred- atory equity (Fields 2015; Teresa, 2016). The legacies of earlier struggles are ‘baked into’ the urban landscape politically and materially (such as the tenant-owned cooperatives created in New York’s earlier period of disinvestment); as such, studies of the urban politics of financialization must be adequately historicized. Second, the consequences of predatory equity are very much linked to the broader market context of a housing boom and the inflated prices investors paid; conditions quite different to the weakened housing market in which private equity firms are buying and renting out repossessed homes. This article highlights clearly how applying riskier value-added and opportunistic investment strategies to rental housing can have devastating consequences for tenants if the under- lying asset is mismanaged or fails to appreciate, or if extreme economic events occur.
More generally, this article demonstrates how financialization is always contingent, as are the subjectivities it cultivates (Langley, 2007), pointing to the ever- present possibility of calling the process into question and building alternative political economies of housing. Here, one of the distinctive aspects of how finance capital pursues capital gains also suggests a potential limit to the financialization of rental housing. The construction of new asset classes relies on aggregation at an ‘unmatched’ scale (Christophers, 2015b: 10; Leyshon and Thrift, 2007), but while private equity landlords assemble rental portfolios of distressed real estate in the US and Spain, they are also aggregating unwilling subjects. Hence to operate at the scale needed to establish rental housing as an asset class is also to scale up contentious subjectivities, as the recent coordination of three global days of action against private equity landlords by US and Spanish activists shows (McShane, 2015). Such struggles make clear the ways in which property––particularly housing-can only ever be, to use Coakley’s (1994) term, a quasi- financial asset: contestation over value will always limit the possibility for housing to be realized as a pure financial asset.
Desiree Fields, Department of Geography, University of Sheffield, Winter Street, Sheffield S10 2TN, UK, d.fields@sheffield.ac.uk

Corporate landlords are taking over—But tenants can use their monopolies against them BY MATHILDE LIND Gustavussen

    On December 16, 2021, tenants from the Veritas Tenants Association (VTA) held a hybrid meeting in San Francisco to

Corporate landlords are taking over—But tenants can use their monopolies against them

BY MATHILDE LIND Gustavussen

Since the 2008 housing crisis, huge corporate landlords have taken over an alarmingly large share of the rental market. But the more tenants share the same landlord, the greater the number of potential organized tenants that landlord has to face.


 discuss their landlord’s response to their four-month-long debt strike. Fi

Many tenants had lost their job due to COVID-19, and many had borrowed money from family and friends, maxed out their credit cards, or taken out payday loans to continue paying rent — accruing a form of debt known as “shadow debt” not addressed by California’s rent-relief program. Yet in spite of the global public health crisis and the related unemployment crisis, as well as the fact that the state’s program provided only partial relief, Veritas refused to negotiate with tenants. So seeing that their corporate landlord, a $4.5 billion company, was receiving public funds — 

 By December, Veritas had partially caved, or with the Housing Rights Committee of San Francisco who assisted the tenants, said, “Part of what made that meeting so challenging was that people had to really listen and see other members who were dealing with something that the concessions on the table were not going to do anything about.”

Maria Toriche, a VTA member who lost her job in the beginning of the pandemic and was risking eviction to participate in the strike, was determined to carry on:

I knew a lot of tenants had lost work, and I was learning more about how big of a company Veritas is and seeing that they have the money to forgive debt and make concessions from their

 own wealth, and not just rely on public money through the rent-relief program.

At that December meeting, in a show of solidarity, the VTA tenants voted unanimously to continue their debt strike.

The Veritas Tenants Association, which represents 1,200 tenants from over one hundred buildings across California, has been organizing since 2017, supported by the Housing Rights Committee of San Francisco. Their corporate landlord, Veritas Investments, considered San Francisco’s largest landlord, is a real estate investment g smaller rent-stabilized properties and maximizing pro the displacement of long-term tenants.

 Founder and CEO Yat-Pang Au has publicly explained that Veritas’s target demographic in the Bay Area is millennial “techie” transplants — not the tenants actually living in the buildings his company purchases, most of whom are working- class people paying signiercent of tenants had vacated their homes. Describing the displacement of nearly a third of all their tenants as an “achievement” speaks volumes to the kind of landlord Veritas is.

Veritas’s growing dominance in the Bay Area housing market redge funds, college endowments, insurance companies, and pension funds. The foreclosure crisis entrenched global 

 single-family homes but expanding eventually into multifamily rentals.

This process has been aided by the development of “PropTech”: digital products and platforms that automate real-estate transactions and management and use algorithms to determine the proestment rental properties, using a “neighborhood rating algorithm” to calculate risks. Further, companies like TenantCloud and Avail optimize the management of rental properties through online portals that automate tenant screening, property listing, maintenance requests, and rent collection. As Big Tech and real estate prices skyrocketed during COVID-19 and many struggling smaller landlords sold their properties to institutional investors, private equity’s monopolies in housing markets only grew.

According to a recent report by Desiree Fields and Manon Vergerio, the four largest single-family rental operators alone now own more than 200,000 units nationwide, and the sector

 has seen more than $50 billion in investor and capital transactions since the start of the pandemic. A ProPublica investigation showed that private equity he vast majority of these apartment owners are real estate investment trusts (REITs) whose combined 

While the US housing market has always been exploitative, favoring landlords’ property rights over tenants’ protections, the 

Creating Corporate Landlords

 ways, exacerbating inequalities within capitalist housing systems. These processes have been fueled by decades of interventions at various scales that include the systematic dismantling of rental protections, the privatization of public housing, the deregulation of ed the political economy of housing, turning homes — a basic human need — into 

The transformation of housing is closely associated with the global rise of tiable drive to resolve its inherent crisis tendencies by geographical expansion and geographical restructuring.” First, the mortgage market was 

 mortgage crisis. Then, in the wake of the resulting collapse, private equity 

Financialization has occurred with varying intensity across dile, 43 percent of all rental units in Los Angeles are owned by corporate vehicles. Prior to 2008, 

The term “corporate landlord” covers an array of disparate institutional frameworks and sizes — from LLCs and Limited Liability Partnerships (LLPs) to REITs and corporations owning a few dozen or several thousand rental units in one or

 multiple markets. One owner may also use several LLCs or LLPs to manage their holdings, further obfuscating ownership structures and decreasing the transparency of rental markets writ large.

While the institutional frameworks and property types dirent increases — for instance through minor upgrades or “passthroughs” that transfer repair costs onto renters, which are legal in some states, like California — corporate landlords will try to squeeze pro

Corporate landlords typically view their property holdings as long-term income-generating assets that provide continuous

 promental change in the tenant-landlord relationship; the corporate landlord’s client is not the tenant but the shareholder.

Taken together, these changes to the rental housing sector have had extraordinary consequences for tenants, as displacement is integrated into business models (a recent study showed that, over a 

When housing transitions from its primary use value of home to a 

 by dispossession that subjects tenants to extractive, predatory economic practices, and tenants can appear to be vulnerable and helpless, the inevitable victims of that process.

Yet groups like the VTA are increasingly mobilizing against their corporate landlords. Recognizing the potential of building collective power across Veritas-owned buildings, VTA tenants were able to leverage their debt as power and use Veritas’s emerging housing monopoly against them. Lenea Maibaum, a VTA member and organizer with the Housing Rights Committee, explained:

I’ve always said that the more buildings Veritas buys, the smaller they actually become, because the more tenants will choose to 

The Potential of Multibuilding Campaigns


 In January 2022, the VTA ended its debt strike, winning historic concessions from Veritas. In addition to waiving the scheduled rent increases for 2022 and canceling residual debt not covered by the state for all tenants, Veritas committed to addressing the issue of “shadow debt.” But VTA tenants also harnessed their experiences to secure tenants’ rights at the legislative level.

The VTA, along with the Housing Rights Committee, helped formulate an unprecedented right-to-organize ordinance for the city of San Francisco that went into e

The attempted negotiating in 2020 and 2021 and then the strike, everything Veritas was doing and not doing, served as material for how the legislation should be cra

 Contrary to how Veritas stonewalled its tenants for years, only responding when a debt strike threatened its ability to generate pro

These historic victories demonstrated for VTA tenants the power they hold as renters, particularly in the corporate landlord structure. Maria Toriche explained how the strike illustrated that

when tenants pay their rent, or in the case of the strike, 

While rent strikes have always been a powerful tool of tenant movements, the corporate landlord structure ampli

 rental streams to facilitate that expansion, and rely on rental income to pay shareholders and bondholders, tenants can fundamentally imperil the business model by withholding that revenue — a form of leverage that is multiplied by the size of the mobilizable tenant body. And if tenants are able to identify investors linked to speci

then the investors could potentially pull out, and then Veritas is forced to sell the buildings. That’s when the tenants’ association can intervene and say, these need to be taken o

The VTA has provided a blueprint for how tenants can build collective power across buildings and use that power to make demands of corporate landlords, to force legislative change, and potentially to decommodify their homes.

 Another group carrying out a multibuilding campaign is the K3 Tenant Council in Los Angeles. Over the last couple of years, their corporate landlord, K3 Holdings, has bought up more than forty properties across LA, focusing on rent- stabilized buildings in rapidly gentrifying areas like Highland Park and Koreatown and utilizing cash-for keys o loophole provided by Costa-Hawkins to displace long-term tenants and convert their units to market rate. Between October 2019 and January 2021, K3 Holdings — owned by millionaire heirs Nathan and Michael Kadisha — paid tenants more than $4.3 million in move-out incentives.

In response, the K3 Tenant Council has organized twenty K3- owned buildings, with support from the Los Angeles Tenants Union, beginning in late 2020. Having mapped out their landlord’s predatory practices, the tenant council has been able to mobilize new K3 tenants, inform them of their right to stay put before K3’s tactics clear out the buildings, and help

Targeting Vulnerabilities in the Corporate Landlord Structure

 tenants coordinate code violation complaints to the city, while creating greater public awareness of the issues associated with rental housing consolidation and corporate landlord practices, for instance through a recent protest at K3’s headquarters in Beverly Hills. Sixteen tenants have also 

Since K3 Holdings depend upon these exploitative practices to turn a pro

The types of multibuilding campaigns carried out by the VTA and the K3 Tenant Council expose vulnerabilities in the corporate landlord structure exploitable by tenants’ associations, as well as the legislative loopholes and hypercommodi

 Scholars like Fields and Vergerio recommend limiting corporate-landlord ownership in local markets, ensuring greater transparency of ownership and practices, and passing universal, broad-based renters’ protections. These measures would signit US cities but cities across the world.

With private equity expanding its market share during the pandemic and eviction moratoriums and renters’ protections expiring, the need for action has only grown more urgent. VTA tenant Maria Toriche argues, “As much as the owners of the apartments need our money to continue growing, we need a place to live.”

Mathilde Lind Gustavussen is a PhD candidate in sociology at the Free University of Berlin.

UNDER FILED

UNITED STATES / Commodification Cities

CONTRIBUTORS

Housing / Finance Capitalism / Rent Control

Sunday, May 12, 2024

MC elveney No Shortcuts


There’s an informal gestalt in much of academia that unions are
not social movements at all: that union equates to “undemocratic, top-
down bureaucracy.” Yet not all so-called social movement organiza-
tions (SMOs) fit their own definition of social; many function from
the top down as much as any bad union. An SMO’s membership, if it
has one, can be and often is as irrelevant and disregarded as the rank
and file in the worst union. Likewise, scholars assume that material
gain is the primary concern of unions, missing that workplace fights
are most importantly about one of the deepest of human emotional
needs: dignity. The day in, day out degradation of peoples’ self-worth
is what can drive workers to form the solidarity needed to face today’s
union busters.
Earning my doctorate after long practical experience— as a young, 
radical student leader, then as a community organizer, a full- time edu-
cator at the Highlander Center, and, eventually, a union organizer and 
chief negotiator and an electoral campaign manager— I find it impos-
sible to sort the process of progressive social change into two distinct 
piles or traditions. All of the unions I worked with were by any defini-
tion social movements, characterized by progressive goals that reached 
This material was originally published in No Shortcuts: Organizing for Power in the New Gilded Age by Jane F. McAlevey, and  
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For permission to reuse this content in any way, please go to the following website:  http://www.oup.co.uk/academic/rights/permissions/ 
No Shortcuts2
2
well beyond the workplace; prefigurative decision- making; and robust 
participation by workers, their families, and their communities.
In this book, in the term movement I consciously merge agencies that 
have been studied separately: the people in unions, who are called work-
ers, and many of the same people after they have punched the clock
at the end of their shift and put on their SMO (or “interest group”)
volunteer hats—people who are then called individuals. Workers, too,
are individuals. A divided approach to workplaces and communities pre-
vents people and movements from winning more significant victories
and building power. To the extent that a dichotomous approach persists 
in academia, it deprives scholars, students, and practitioners from better
understanding two longstanding questions: Why have unions faltered?
and What must be done?
My hypothesis is threefold. First, the reason that progressives have
experienced a four-decade decline in the United States is because of a
significant and long-term shift away from deep organizing and toward
shallow mobilizing. Second, the split between “labor” and “social move-
ment” has hampered what little organizing has been done. Together,
these two trends help account for the failure of unions and progressive
politics, the ongoing shrinking of the public sphere, and unabashed rule
by the worst and greediest corporate interests.
Third, different approaches to change lead to different outcomes,
often very different outcomes. I discuss three broad types of change pro-
cesses: advocacy, mobilizing, and organizing—although my emphasis,
if not my obsessive emphasis, is on the latter two. Each method pro-
duces a different kind of victory, and not all of these victories are equal; 
some are actually defeats. Only organizing can effectively challenge the 
gross inequality of power in the United States. Today, there is very little 
understanding of what factors lead to small, medium-, and high-impact 
victories, or why.
Power and Power Structure Analysis
In the United States, C. Wright Mills popularized the concept of power 
and power structures in his book The Power Elite,2 published in 1956. In 
the sixty years since then, progressives have largely ignored and omit-
ted discussions about power or power structures. Nothing produces 
This material was originally published in No Shortcuts: Organizing for Power in the New Gilded Age by Jane F. McAlevey, and  
has been reproduced by permission of Oxford University Press (https://global.oup.com/academic/product/no-shortcuts-9780190868659). 
For permission to reuse this content in any way, please go to the following website:  http://www.oup.co.uk/academic/rights/permissions/ 
Introduction 3
   3
deer- in- the- headlights moments for activists in the United States like 
the question “What’s your theory of power?” The 1967 follow- up book 
to Mills’s work, Who Rules America, by William Domhoff (and his pres-
ent- day website bearing the same name), is still considered the best all- 
around go- to resource for local activists trying to understand how to do 
power- related research on their opponents. But Mills, Domhoff, and 
others who offer academic discussions of power largely attend to the 
power structures of the elites, of those who routinely exercise a great deal 
of power (national power in Mills’s work, local power in Domhoff’s). 
And the conversations about elite power can get very circular (they exer-
cise it because they have it, they have it because they exercise it, were 
born into it, have friends with it …). Part of what made Frances Fox 
Piven and Richard Cloward’s 1977 book, Poor People’s Movements,3 so 
refreshing— and smart— is that they inserted ordinary people into dis-
cussions about who can exercise power.
In discussing power, I am going to put brackets around this very 
big concept. My interest, borne out by the empirical cases that follow, 
is in understanding the power structures of ordinary people and how 
they themselves can come to better understand their own power. There’s 
plenty of evidence on the front pages of The New York Times that Mills’s 
elites still rule. The level of raw privilege that a Mark Zuckerberg or Bill 
Gates or Jamie Dimon presently possesses isn’t much different from that 
which Bertrand Russell described in his 1938 book Power as “priestly” and 
“kingly.”4 That helps explain why multinational CEOs were included, 
and indistinguishable from, the Pope, kings, and presidents in the many 
photos taken at the December 2015 climate talks.5 It doesn’t seem all 
that difficult to understand how today’s priestly- kingly- corporate class 
rules. But for people attempting to change this or that policy, especially 
if the change desired is meaningful (i.e., will change society), it is essen-
tial to first dissect and chart their targets’ numerous ties and networks. 
Even understanding whom to target— who the primary and secondary 
people and institutions are that will determine whether the campaign 
will succeed (or society will change)— often requires a highly detailed 
power- structure analysis.
This step is often skipped or is done poorly, which is partly why 
groups so often fail. Domhoff’s website, combined with a dozen other 
more recent similar websites— such as LittleSis, CorpWatch, and 
This material was originally published in No Shortcuts: Organizing for Power in the New Gilded Age by Jane F. McAlevey, and  
has been reproduced by permission of Oxford University Press (https://global.oup.com/academic/product/no-shortcuts-9780190868659). 
For permission to reuse this content in any way, please go to the following website:  http://www.oup.co.uk/academic/rights/permissions/ 
No Shortcuts4
4
Subsidy Tracker— can help groups in the United States sharpen their 
analysis of precisely who needs to be defeated, overcome, or persuaded 
to achieve success. Understanding who the correct targets are and the 
forms of power they exercise should be only one step in a power- struc-
ture analysis,6 but often when that step is taken, it only plots the cur-
rent power holders in relationship to one another. Good start, but keep 
going.
What is almost never attempted is the absolutely essential corollary: a 
parallel careful, methodical, systematic, detailed analysis of power struc-
tures among the ordinary people who are or could be brought into the 
fight. Unions that still execute supermajority strikes have an excellent 
approach to better understanding how to analyze these power structures: 
to pull off a huge strike and win (as did the Chicago teachers in the new 
millennium) requires a detailed analysis of exactly which workers are likely 
to stand together, decide to defy their employer’s threats of termination, 
and walk out in a high- risk collective action. Which key individual worker 
can sway exactly whom else— by name— and why? How strong is the 
support he or she has among exactly how many coworkers, and how do 
the organizers know this to be true? The ability to correctly answer these 
and many other related questions— Who does each worker know outside 
work? Why? How? How well? How can the worker reach and influence 
them?— will be the lifeblood of successful strikes in the new millennium.
Liberals and most progressives don’t do a full power- structure analysis 
because, consciously or not, they accept the kind of elite theory of power 
that Mills popularized. They assume elites will always rule. At best, they 
debate how to replace a very naughty elite with a “better” elite, one they 
“can work with,” who wants workers to have enough money to shop the 
CEOs out of each crisis they create, who will give them a raise that they 
will spend on consuming goods they probably don’t need. The search for 
these more friendly elites frames the imagination of liberals and progres-
sives. An elite theory of power for well- intentioned liberals leads to the 
advocacy model; an elite theory of power for people further left than 
liberals— progressives— leads to the mobilizing model, because progres-
sives set more substantive goals that require a display of potential power, 
or at least a threat of it.
People to the left of both liberals and progressives have a different 
theory of power: different because it assumes that the very idea of who 
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Introduction 5
   5
holds power is itself contestable, and that elites can be pushed from 
priestly- kingly- corporate rule. Though almost extinct nationally, there 
are still powerful unions operating at the local and regional level. These 
unions’ democratic, open negotiations— in which tens of thousands of 
workers unite to stop bad employers from doing horrible things and 
then create enough power to pull up to the negotiations table as equals 
and determine something better— provide evidence that ordinary peo-
ple can exercise both absolute power (power over) and creative power 
(power to). A focus of this book is on why and how to analyze this still 
vast potential power of ordinary people.
Marshall Ganz simplified the concept of strategy by explaining it as 
“turning what you have into what you need to get what you want.”7 The 
word you is crucial— and variable. How do people come to understand 
the first part of this sentence, “what you have”? And which people get to 
understand? Only those who understand what they have can meaning-
fully plot the “what you need”: create the steps that comprise the plan, 
plot and direct the course of action, and then get “what you want.” And 
because “what you want” is generally in proportion to what you think 
you can get, demands rise or fall based on what people believe they 
might reasonably achieve. Who is the actual you in “what you want”? 
To better understand outcomes— winning or losing, a little or a lot— 
requires breaking down each subclause in Ganz’s excellent definition of 
strategy.
First, Ganz rightly suggests that the specific “biographies” of those on 
“leadership teams” can directly affect strategy because “diverse teams” 
bring a range of “salient knowledge” and varied and relevant networks 
to the strategy war room. It follows, then, that the bigger the war room, 
the better. I expand who should be in the strategy war room from people 
with recognizable decision- making authority or a position or title— such 
as lead organizer, vice president, researcher, director, steward, and execu-
tive board member— to specific individuals who have no titles but who 
are the organic leaders on whom the masses rely: nurse, teacher, anes-
thesia tech, school bus driver, congregant, and voter. I urge a deeper 
dive into the specific backgrounds, networks, and salient knowledge of 
the masses involved, rather than only those of the leadership team— the 
rank and file matter just as much to outcomes, if not more, than the 
more formal leaders. Why? Large numbers of people transition from 
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No Shortcuts6
6
unthinking “masses” or “the grassroots” or “the workers” to serious 
and highly invested actors exercising agency when they come to see, to 
understand, and to value the power of their own salient knowledge and 
networks. The chief way to help ordinary people go from object to sub-
ject is to teach them about their potential power by involving them as 
central actors in the process of developing the power- structure analysis 
in their own campaigns— so they come to better understand their own 
power and that of their opponents.
When they see that three of their own ministers and two of their city 
council members and the head of the PTA for their children’s schools 
serve on commissions and boards with their CEOs, they themselves can 
begin to imagine and plot strategy. People participate to the degree they 
understand— but they also understand to the degree they participate. 
It’s dialectical. Power- structure analysis is the mechanism that enables 
ordinary people to understand their potential power and participate 
meaningfully in making strategy. When people understand the strategy 
because they helped make it, they will be invested for the long haul, 
sustained and propelled to achieve more meaningful wins.
Three key variables are crucial to analyzing the potential for success 
in the change process: power, strategy, and engagement. Three ques-
tions must be asked: Is there a clear and comprehensive power- structure 
analysis? Does the strategy adopted have any relationship to a power- 
structure analysis? How, if at all, are individuals being approached and 
engaged in the process, including the power analysis and strategy, not 
just the resulting collective action? Many small advances can be and 
are won without engaging ordinary people, where the key actors are 
instead paid lawyers, lobbyists, and public relations professionals, helped 
by some good smoke and mirrors. That is an advocacy model, and small 
advances are all it can produce— but I am getting ahead of myself.
Progressives, broadly defined, have enough resources to achieve 
a massive turnaround of the long reactionary political and economic 
trends in the United States, perhaps in all of the so- called Western 
industrialized countries. And substantial change can happen fast— in 
just a few years. (Note this, climate- change campaigners: Correct strat-
egy and deep organizing can make things happen quickly.) One impli-
cation of my argument is that the people controlling the movement’s 
resources— the individuals who are decision makers in national unions 
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Introduction 7
   7
and in philanthropy— have been focused on the wrong strategies for 
decades, leading to an extraordinary series of setbacks. Many of the big-
gest victories of the past 100 years, those won in the heyday of the labor 
and civil rights movements, have been all but rolled back.
Yet some of the victories achieved by the people in these two move-
ments were durable— and so have not been entirely lost— because they 
instituted major structural changes that were embedded in government 
policies at the national, state, and local levels; they achieved strong or 
relatively strong enforcement mechanisms; they achieved better fund-
ing and staffing for the enforcement agencies; and, most important, 
each victory became part of the everyday consciousness of most people. 
We know this because people who say they don’t like unions will also 
say, “At least in this country it’s illegal for children to work in facto-
ries,” or “I told the boss I wouldn’t handle anything so toxic without 
protection,” or simply, “Thank God It’s Friday.” That is, they don’t like 
unions, but they see child labor laws, workplace safety regulations, the 
eight- hour workday, and the weekend— all benefits won by workers 
engaged in collective action through their unions— as the reasonable 
and beneficial norm. Similarly, many white people in the United States 
might find #blacklivesmatter overly confrontational, but they take it 
for granted that black people can vote, and that whites- only primaries 
and officially segregated schools are wrong, racist, and a thing of the 
past. And, despite their own continued contributions to maintaining de 
facto structural racism, they would not accept an official return to the 
apartheid of Jim Crow laws.
That is why reversing the gains of the two most successful movements— 
 labor and civil rights— has required a sustained, multidecade, multifront 
campaign by the corporate class. The global trade rules that corporate 
elites methodically put into place have been a key strategy. From the 
1970s through the 1990s, they gutted the power of U.S. factory work-
ers, the biggest organized labor force of that time, by putting them in 
direct competition with workers earning $1 a day in countries where 
rights are minimal and repression high. Then they started a drumbeat 
about unionized workers in the United States being overpaid, and rallied 
national opinion to that message. This is but one example of how peo-
ple, in this case the corporate class, can change what academics call the 
opportunity structure to suit their long- term goals. Global and regional 
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No Shortcuts8
8
trade accords also give multinational corporations the right to buy land 
anywhere in almost any country, and new corporate landlords have for-
cibly evicted or cheaply bought off millions of people from self- sustain-
ing plots of land, directly contributing to a huge rise in immigration 
into the United States and Europe.8
During the same decades, the corporate class pocketed the courts, 
one judicial appointment at a time. The resulting deeply conservative 
judiciary has relentlessly chipped away at the major laws sustaining the 
victories of labor and civil rights, overturning hard- fought, key provi-
sions of affirmative action and voting- rights protections. Moreover, 
along with austerity and privatization, conservative courts have facili-
tated a vertically integrated for- profit prison system, resulting in the 
mass incarceration of African Americans, detention centers overflowing 
with Latinos, and massive profits for the putrid penal system’s corporate 
shareholders.9
The corporate class also created their version of a popular front, 
seizing the cultural apparatus through such rulings as the Federal 
Communications Commission’s Clinton- era decision to allow multina-
tionals to outright own the means of communication. They also built 
up, through very generous funding, the powerful Christian right.
In the zigzag of forward progress from the 1930s to the early 1970s, 
followed by defeats from the mid- 1970s to the present time, what 
changed? Why were the achievements won during the heyday of the 
pre- McCarthy labor movement and the civil rights movement so sub-
stantial compared with the progressive achievements of the past forty 
years? Scholars and practitioners alike have numerous answers to these 
questions, overwhelmingly structural in nature. But in most of their 
answers they consider the labor movement as a separate phenomenon 
with little relationship to the civil rights movement. Social scientists 
have approached the study of each as if they were different species, one a 
mammal and the other a fish, one earthbound and one aquatic. Yet these 
movements have shared several key features that argue for understand-
ing them as more alike than distinct.
The main difference between these two most powerful movements 
half a century ago and today is that during the former period of their 
great successes they relied primarily on— and were led by— what 
Frances Fox Piven has eloquently termed ordinary people. They had a 
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Introduction 9
   9
theory of power: It came from their own ability to sustain massive dis-
ruptions to the existing order. Today, as Theda Skocpol documents in 
Diminished Democracy: From Membership to Management in American 
Civic Life, attempts to generate movements are directed by profes-
sional, highly educated staff who rely on an elite, top- down theory of 
power that treats the masses as audiences of, rather than active partici-
pants in, their own liberation:
Aiming to speak for— and influence— masses of citizens, droves 
of new national advocacy groups have set up shop, with the media 
amplifying debates among their professional spokespersons. The 
National Abortion Rights Action League debates the National Right 
to Life Committee; the Concord Coalition takes on the American 
Association for Retired Persons; and the Environmental Defense 
Fund counters business groups. Ordinary Americans attend to such 
debates fitfully, entertained or bemused. Then pollsters call at dinner-
time to glean snippets of what everyone makes of it all.10
As the cases in this book— all situated in the new millennium— illustrate, 
the chief factor in whether or not organizational efforts grow organically 
into local and national movements capable of effecting major change is 
where and with whom the agency for change rests. It is not merely if 
ordinary people— so often referred to as “the grassroots”— are engaged, 
but how, why, and where they are engaged.
Advocacy, Mobilizing, and Organizing
Here is the major difference among the three approaches discussed in 
the book. Advocacy doesn’t involve ordinary people in any real way; 
lawyers, pollsters, researchers, and communications firms are engaged 
to wage the battle. Though effective for forcing car companies to 
install seatbelts or banishing toys with components that infants might 
choke on, this strategy severely limits serious challenges to elite power. 
Advocacy fails to use the only concrete advantage ordinary people have 
over elites: large numbers. In workplace strikes, at the ballot box, or in 
nonviolent civil disobedience, strategically deployed masses have long 
been the unique weapon of ordinary people. The 1 percent have a vast 
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No Shortcuts10
10
armory of material resources and political special forces, but the 99 per-
cent have an army.
Over the past forty years, a newer mechanism for change seekers 
has proliferated: the mobilizing approach. Mobilizing is a substantial 
improvement over advocacy, because it brings large numbers of people 
to the fight. However, too often they are the same people: dedicated 
activists who show up over and over at every meeting and rally for all 
good causes, but without the full mass of their coworkers or community 
behind them. This is because a professional staff directs, manipulates, 
and controls the mobilization; the staffers see themselves, not ordinary 
people, as the key agents of change. To them, it matters little who shows 
up, or, why, as long as a sufficient number of bodies appear— enough 
for a photo good enough to tweet and maybe generate earned media. 
The committed activists in the photo have had no part in developing a 
power analysis; they aren’t informed about that or the resulting strat-
egy, but they dutifully show up at protests that rarely matter to power 
holders.
The third approach, organizing, places the agency for success with a 
continually expanding base of ordinary people, a mass of people never 
previously involved, who don’t consider themselves activists at all— 
that’s the point of organizing. In the organizing approach, specific injus-
tice and outrage are the immediate motivation, but the primary goal is 
to transfer power from the elite to the majority, from the 1 percent to 
the 99 percent. Individual campaigns matter in themselves, but they are 
primarily a mechanism for bringing new people into the change process 
and keeping them involved. The organizing approach relies on mass 
negotiations to win, rather than the closed- door deal making typical of 
both advocacy and mobilizing. Ordinary people help make the power 
analysis, design the strategy, and achieve the outcome. They are essential 
and they know it.
In unions and SMOs in the United States today, advocacy and, espe-
cially, mobilizing prevail. This is the main reason why modern move-
ments have not replicated the kinds of gains achieved by the earlier 
labor and civil rights movements. Table 1.1 compares the three models 
by their distinct approach to power, strategy, and people. Hahrie Han 
has a somewhat similar chart in her excellent book How Organizations 
Develop Activists.11 However, Han focuses on what I call self- selecting 
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   11
Table 1.1 Options for Change
Advocacy Mobilizing Organizing
Theory 
of Power
Elite. 
Advocacy 
groups tend 
to seek one- 
time wins or 
narrow policy 
changes, often 
through courts 
or back- room 
negotiations 
that do not 
permanently 
alter the 
relations of 
power.
Primarily elite. Staff 
or activists set goals 
with low to medium 
concession costs or, 
more typically, set an 
ambitious goal and 
declare a win, even  
when the “win” has 
no, or only weak, 
enforcement  
provisions. Back- 
room, secret deal 
making by paid 
professionals is 
common.
Mass, inclusive, and collective. 
Organizing groups transform 
the power structure to favor 
constituents and diminish the 
power of their opposition. 
Specific campaigns fit into a 
larger power- building strategy. 
They prioritize power analysis, 
involve ordinary people in it, 
and decipher the often hidden 
relationship between economic, 
social, and political power. 
Settlement typically comes 
from mass negotiations with 
large numbers involved.
Strategy Litigation; 
heavy 
spending 
on polling, 
advertising, 
and other paid 
media.
Campaigns, run by 
professional staff, or 
volunteer activists 
with no base of  
actual, measureable 
supporters, that 
prioritize frames 
and messaging over 
base power. Staff- 
selected “authentic 
messengers” represent 
the constituency to 
the media and policy 
makers, but they have 
little or no real say in 
strategy or running 
the campaign.
Recruitment and involvement 
of specific, large numbers of 
people whose power is derived 
from their ability to withdraw 
labor or other cooperation 
from those who rely on them. 
Majority strikes, sustained 
and strategic nonviolent 
direct action, electoral 
majorities. Frames matter, 
but the numbers involved 
are sufficiently compelling 
to create a significant earned 
media strategy. Mobilizing is 
seen as a tactic, not a strategy.
(continued )
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No Shortcuts12
12
groups that do not make class a central issue. This book does focus 
on class, and on the clear and vital distinction between the strategy of 
developing activists, who are not always drawn from the working class, 
and that of developing organic leaders, who always are.
Structure- based vs. Self- selecting Groups
The labor and civil rights movements were located in the landscape of 
what I call structure- based organizing. The structures were, respectively, 
the workplace and the black church under Jim Crow. Both movements 
chose organizing as their primary strategy. Mobilizing and advocacy also 
played a role, but the lifeblood of these movements was mass participation 
by ordinary people, whose engagement was inspired by a cohesive com-
munity bound by a sense of place: the working community on the shop 
floor, in the labor movement, and the faith community in the church, in 
the fight for civil rights. The empirical research that follows and the volu-
minous literature examining the outcomes of the 1930s through 1960s are 
fair grounds for arguing that structure- based organizing still offers the 
best chance to rebuild a powerful progressive movement. Unorganized 
workplaces and houses of faith remain a target- rich environment, and 
there are plenty of them, enough to return the labor movement to the 
35 percent density it had when inequality was falling, not rising.12
Since organizing’s primary purpose is to change the power struc-
ture away from the 1 percent to more like the 90 percent, majorities 
Advocacy Mobilizing Organizing
People 
Focus
None. Grassroots activists.
People already  
committed to the 
cause, who show 
up over and over. 
When they burn out, 
new, also previously 
committed activists are 
recruited. And so on. 
Social media are over 
relied on.
Organic leaders.
The base is expanded through 
developing the skills of organic 
leaders who are key influencers 
of the constituency, and who 
can then, independent of staff, 
recruit new people never before 
involved. Individual, face- to- 
face interactions are key.
Table 1.1 (Continued)
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Introduction 13
   13
are always the goal: the more people, the more power. But not just any 
people. And the word majority isn’t a throwaway word on a flip chart, it 
is a specific objective that must be met. In structure- based organizing, 
in the workplace and in faith- based settings, it is easy to assess whether 
or not you have won over a majority of the participants in the given 
structure to a cause or an issue. A workplace or church will have, say, 
500 workers or parishioners, and to reach a majority, or even a superma-
jority, the quantifiable nature of the bounded constituency allows you 
to assess your success in achieving your numbers. An organizer intend-
ing to build a movement to maximum power who is approaching a 
structured or bounded constituency must target and plan to reach each 
and every person, regardless of whether or not each and every person 
has any preexisting interest in the union or community organization. 
Beyond understanding concretely when a majority has been gained, 
the organizer can gauge the commitment levels of the majority by the 
nature, frequency, and riskiness of actions they are willing to take. The 
process of building a majority and testing its commitment level also 
allows a far more systematic method of assessing which ordinary people 
have preexisting leadership within the various structures, a method 
called leadership identification. These informal leaders, whom I will call 
organic leaders, seldom self- identify as leaders and rarely have any offi-
cial titles, but they are identifiable by their natural influence with their 
peers. Knowing how to recognize them makes decisions about whom 
to prioritize for leadership development far more effective. Developing 
their leadership skill set is more fruitful than training random volun-
teers, because these organic leaders start with a base of followers. They 
are the key to scale.
This process differs considerably from the self- selecting that goes on 
in movement work, such as environmental and other single- issue fights, 
women’s and other identity- based movements, and nonreligious com-
munity efforts. Self- selecting groups rely on the mobilizing approach, 
and many of these groups grew out of, or in response to, the New Left 
project of the 1960s.13 In self- selecting work, most people show up at 
meetings because they have a preexisting interest in or a serious com-
mitment to the cause. As Skocpol says, “[M] any of the key groups were 
not membership associations at all. They were small combinations of 
nimble, fresh thinking, and passionate advocates of new causes.”14 In 
self- selecting work, movement groups spend most of their time talking 
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