"Every day is something new. You don't know what to expect," says Paul Hinton, who temporarily closed his South King County barbershop after Gov. Jay Inslee, in an attempt to contain the coronavirus outbreak, issued a statewide stay-at-home order.
Pausing from working on a puzzle with his wife and children, Hinton relays recent conversations with and shared anxieties of fellow barbers.
"It's all about how we're going to make it. Some people are doing house calls with regulars, but I'm really trying to follow the governor's order," says Hinton, who grew up in South Seattle near Franklin High School. Though his business started in his old community, he reopened in Skyway four years ago after Seattle rents grew exorbitant. His clients told him daily variations of that story. Many had migrated further south, as he had, in search of affordability.
He views the federal government's recent stimulus package as nothing more than a tourniquet. And the state's expanded unemployment benefits still won't quite cover the $1,500 to $2,000 a week he pulled down.
Thankfully, he has stashed away some modest savings, and his shop's landlord has been understanding, at least for now. "He still has to pay his rent, too, though," Hinton says.
Hinton is more worried, however, about those who were in survival mode before the crisis. "What are people going to do with [the] $1,200 [stimulus check]? It's a direct deposit to bill collectors. I'm all for the [proposed] rent freezes, but also freezes on utilities and increases on food to stop people from trying to price gouge," Hinton says.
Many in Skyway's business core are worried the government relief won't be enough. The mile-and-a-half stretch that runs up Renton Avenue consists of five barbershops and hair salons, discount grocer Grocery Outlet, two casinos (one attached to the area's venerable bowling alley), a bar, a consignment shop and six churches packed into a three block radius.
Other than the grocer and a handful of convenience stores and restaurants offering takeout, most everything else is shut down.
Part of unincorporated King County, the area has long been neglected by infrastructure and economic and public health investments. Tucked between Seattle and Renton, Skyway boasts nirvanic views of Lake Washington, a racially diverse population of 18,000, average real estate prices cheaper than Seattle's and median incomes of $49,104.
Skyway's new King County Council representative, Girmay Zahilay, took to The Seattle Times in February to argue that the community should become "a model for investing in the area without displacing the people who call it home."
"People were struggling before this crisis, and if we don't do something, they'll be struggling after. We know the consequences of inaction," says Zahilay. He sounds exhausted. The council member has been working sunup to sundown, he says, responding to constituents in need.
The coronavirus crisis has magnified stubbornly unbalanced accounts between those with plenty and those barely holding on. The eviction moratoriums, federal cash assistance — sound good for now, but what about later, when this crisis has abated? With a potential recession looming, a record number of unemployment insurance claims and the Federal Reserve estimating that 47 million more Americans could lose their jobs, how much further will the already struggling and marginalized plunge?
Far, if history is a guide.
Major catastrophes may not discriminate, but the suffering they cause lands disproportionately on communities of color. Racial and social inequities are inflamed, and those considered least during the good times remain neglected in bad ones. So what hope does Skyway and other communities around South Seattle have in avoiding what scholars call "disaster gentrification," the crisis after the crisis that has caused displacement in New Orleans, New York, Miami and countless other places?
"It's a good question," says Ardent Victa, a bartender and lifelong Seattleite, whose work has been threatened by the statewide closures of restaurants and bars. "But the longer the shutdown lasts the more I might start looking elsewhere."
And so might others, accelerating the expulsion of the working class from the urban core, which includes large swaths of communities of color, during a time when economic survival hinges either on receiving a guaranteed salary or extraordinary government action.
Disaster recovery and the status quo
Metal mauled rock as the bulldozer's blade scooped and piled rubble onto a new foundation overrunning old grounds on 17th Avenue and Lander Street, near the Beacon Hill light rail station. The construction will eventually become two- and three-bedroom townhomes priced between $679,000 and $885,000.
The rock-gutting resounded for blocks, an alarm of transformation many longtime residents know woefully well. Now hushed with the rest of the city, the neighborhood's transformation will restart as soon as the world does.
It is one of several neighborhoods represented by Seattle City Councilmember Tammy Morales that may see residents displaced after the worst of the economic downturn is over. And it's a reason she says that responses from policymakers must also consider justice. Otherwise, they risk dislodging vulnerable communities from their native cities at a breakneck pace.
