Newburyport was once a city where a wave, a passing smile, or a borrowed cup of sugar was just another way of saying, “We’re in this together.” It was a city where landlords lived among their tenants, not removed from them. Before property portfolios replaced neighborly gestures, it was a place built on familiarity not speculation.
But now?
The landlords are LLCs with corporate addresses and the warmth of community has been swapped for investment potential. As the tide of rental to condo conversions sweeps through Newburyport, swallowing century-old apartment buildings whole, renters are vanishing. Look at the trend: According to city records, in FY 2000, Newburyport had 127 apartment buildings with 4 units or more. There are now just 80 apartment buildings with 4 units or more, totaling just 747 rental apartments.
For comparison, Newburyport currently has:
Condo units…2,437 dwelling units.
Single family units…4,461 dwelling units.
Two family units…524 dwelling units.
Three family units…150 dwelling units.
(A dwelling unit is a home. It is not the number of occupants.)
Imagine that X was the last tenant in Newburyport. She or he goes by X because renters are often afraid of interacting with local government. The fear isn’t irrational. Retaliation, bureaucratic indifference, and the risk of being labelled “troublemakers” can deter even the most frustrated renters from speaking up. X had watched neighbors pack their lives into rental trucks, forced out by the latest LLC acquisition. X had listened to the Affordable Housing Trust assure the public that middle-class renters were still a priority, even as the list of apartment rentals quietly shrank to a footnote. The city called the situation “unfortunate but inevitable.” Market forces were cited. X was likely unaware that the City of Newburyport receives more property tax revenue from condos than it does from rental units–hence, the city’s administration has a financial incentive to develop more condos, and reduce affordable housing.
“Market forces”? Nothing more than an excuse to let developers dictate policy while pretending economic hardship is natural—a convenient shield for politicians, landlords and developers who want to avoid responsibility. Or hide from it while framing displacement, skyrocketing rents and mass terminations of renters as inevitable rather than their own deliberate choices.
These fortunate new arrivals did not build Newburyport. They acquired it–polished, refined, and packaged for consumption. Sculpted to mirror their preferences. They sought predictability. Unburdened by inconvenience. A homogeneous living experience. The fortunate new arrivals embraced exclusivity and the quiet removal of complexities. Complexities like the working class, the unpredictable rental markets, and the messy reality of affordability. The fortunate new arrivals recognized that walls, both seen and unseen, offer protection, however illusionary. They did not seek confrontation with displaced renters or struggling families. They simply chose not to acknowledge them. The fortunate new arrivals invested in “history” reimagined without the hardship. Jewelery stores, boutique storefronts and real-estate offices now take the place of many retail shops.
Whispers of progress without disruption. A city where government policies reflect preferences, portfolios, and a curated vision. No rent stabilization. No tenant protections. No public discourse. And above all, the fortunate new arrivals move forward with serene detachment. They watch as affordability is revised, rewritten and quietly erased. They bought in. They paid for peace. They expect nothing less.
X moved out of Newburyport. The condos opened, and nobody spoke of The Last Renter again. Except, of course, in whispers among those who still wonder where young adults and middle-class families are supposed to go.
Walt Thompson
Newburyport resident
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