I Love You, You Pay My Rent

by Rebecca Schoenkopf

I do not have rent control. You do not have rent control. Rent control is utilized strictly by the able-bodied great-nephews of long-dead old ladies whose princely $350 rents have not grown a dime in the 50 years they’ve lived (and died) in swoopy Art Deco apartments with their original carved plaster and not a bit of ugly stucco to be found.

And I am totally okay with that. Why? Honestly, I haven’t the faintest idea.

I think we all know how I feel about people who get something I don’t, whether it’s a mortgage or a MacArthur Genius grant or a date for Saturday night, and that is: I do not like them. I do not like them at all. In fact, I can get rather spitty about it.

But just knowing rent control is out there is like knowing dolphins are still frolicking in the sea—and once in a while, they save some stupid surfer from a shark.

Do you know who does not like rent control? Landlords! And why would they? They swear upon the ghost of Adam Smith and his magical free market, the great shining unicorn that enables HMOs and Enron to do such a marvelous job of providing great benefit for all, if by “all” you mean “the dudes who got the bonuses,” which of course you do, and not, say, Grandma Millie, which of course you don’t. And so you have the oligopolies: HMOs that don’t collude exactly and yet manage to parallel their prices until they’ve found the sweet spot that enabled Blue Cross of California to send a billion dollars to its parent company, WellPoint, in 2007 alone. (The only industry where competition is still a boon to consumers is in cell phones. Go T-Mobile! But don’t worry; they too will mature.)

And you have Enron shoving electricity up Grandma Millie’s ass. (By all means, please do listen for yourself!)

And you have landlords, who are the only ones who can afford to buy a house, so they buy all of them, and then they charge $2500 a month on a busy street in Anaheim, and when you ask about the nice big back yard, they perkily tell you they’ll be building another unit back there, and that you’ll get a 10-foot fenced patio. For $30,000 a year, surely, you didn’t expect more?

Landlords all are going to hell. It’s true: just ask the Nazi Pope!

I had a good landlord once. She rented her extra house in Santa Barbara room-by-room, and made you meet with all the other tenants before she rented to you, because she wanted everyone to be happy. She was dippy, and very nice. She is not going to hell so much.

But what are all the other landlords doing? They’re funding—$2.17 million so far—the campaign for Prop. 98. According to the Coalition for Economic Survival, Prop. 98 doesn’t just eliminate the “private taking” that is rent control. (Prop. 98 is nominally an anti-eminent-domain-abuse initiative.) It also eliminates “important renter protections, like laws protecting renters against unfair evictions [thus allowing] landlords to kick out tenants for no good reason.” According to CES, it also allows them to eliminate renter protections like laws requiring the fair return of rental deposits. Fuck you, Howard Jarvis Taxpayers Association! (Kicking in a cool $400 grand so far!) Thanks for breaking California!

Oh, and Prop. 98 could fuck up the water supply, have drastic impacts on environmental regulations, and would probably prohibit any kind of zoning regulations as another “private taking.” Say hello to your new Wal-Mart!

Now, perhaps you are a landlord. Maybe you rent a pretty home for below market rates, because you’d rather have your choice of happy, stable tenants than shifty gypsies moving in and out in the middle of the dark, dark night. Maybe you even fix shit promptly and have a pleasant attitude. You are great! Everyone loves you, babe! This is not about you.

Except: You still don’t get to vote for Prop. 98, because it is evil and shadowy and the ghost of Howard Jarvis is dancing a money jig while twirling its evil mustaches and fucking Grandma Millie. Up the ass!

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