Black Flight Hits Detroit
DETROIT—This shrinking city needs to hang on to people like Johnette Barham: taxpaying, middle-class professionals who invest in local real estate, work and play downtown, and make their home here.
Ms. Barham just left. And she’s not coming back.
In seven years as a homeowner in Detroit, she endured more than 10 burglaries and break-ins at her house and a nearby rental property she owned. Still, she defied friends’ pleas to leave as she fortified her home with locks, bars, alarms and a dog.
Then, a week before Christmas, someone torched the house and destroyed almost everything she owned.
In March, police arrested a suspect in connection with the case, someone who turned out to be remarkably easy to find. For Ms. Barham, the arrest came one crime too late. “I was constantly being targeted in a way I couldn’t predict, in a way that couldn’t be controlled by the police,” she says. “I couldn’t take it anymore.”
Ms. Barham’s journey from diehard to defector illustrates the precarious state of Detroit today. The city—which has shed roughly 1 million residents since the 1950s—is now losing the African-American professionals who had stayed steadfastly, almost defiantly, loyal.
Through decades of white flight and economic distress, these diehards have sustained the city’s cultural institutions and allowed prime neighborhoods such as Indian Village and Palmer Woods to stave off the blight that infects large swaths of Detroit.
Today, frustrated by plummeting property values and high crime, many diehards have hit their breaking point. Their exodus is consigning borderline neighborhoods to full-blown blight and putting prime residential areas at risk. By some estimates, this year’s Census will show a population drop of 150,000 people from the 951,000 people who lived within city limits in 2000. That would be roughly double the population loss in the 1990s, when black, middle-class flight began replacing white flight as the prevailing dynamic.
There are other signs the middle class is throwing in the towel. From 1999 to 2008, median household income in Detroit dropped nearly 25% to $28,730, after growing 17% in the 1990s, according to Data Driven Detroit, a nonprofit that analyzes Census data for the city. Over that period, the proportion of owner-occupied homes fell to 39% from 49%, while the proportion of vacant homes nearly tripled to 28%.
“The folks with the wherewithal to leave, the folks with the jobs… those are the people that have the ability to exercise voting with your feet,” says David Martin, a professor of public policy at Wayne State University in Detroit.
Further erosion of Detroit’s middle-class could cripple a turnaround plan by government and private-sector leaders here. It calls for “right-sizing” the city’s government and geography to fit a shrunken population. But it hinges on the city shoring up stable neighborhoods and retaining middle-class taxpayers, while converting blighted areas for such uses as parks or farms.
“All of that is kind of intertwined,” says Detroit Mayor Dave Bing, a former pro basketball star and local businessman brought into office last year by an election that pushed out most of the city’s old leadership. “The first stage that we want to focus on is to keep those people that are here… and then create the right type of environment that will bring those kinds of people back.” Mr. Bing has seen several friends leave town.
Even the best neighborhoods are struggling to hold on. Boston-Edison was once home to Henry Ford and other auto magnates. It has a neighborhood association that enforces strict rules on home upkeep and it employs a private-security firm to patrol its mansion-lined streets.
Crime is low because of the security. But the district shows the scars of an economic and real-estate crisis that has savaged Detroit.
“When you’re totally occupied you have a bigger buffer” against scourges like vandalism and blight.,” says Pamela Miller Malone, president of the neighborhood association. “There’s nothing like that buffer.”
Atkinson Street, where Johnette Barham bought her home, was once that buffer. One block north is the southern boundary of Boston-Edison. One block south is Clairmount Street, the flashpoint of the 1967 riots. It is now a run-down boulevard with boarded-up homes and weedy lots.
Built before the Depression, Atkinson was among the few middle-class developments of its time that didn’t bar blacks or Jews. Today about a quarter of the 225 homes in this historic district surrounding Ms. Barham’s old house are boarded up.