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Two years ago, my husband and I moved into a neighborhood of Nashville that is rapidly gentrifying. In fact, we were a part of the movement that was coming in to buy renovated homes that used to be crack houses on streets that were infamous for prostitution and drug dealing. Most people I know would say this is a good thing. Southern Living Magazine calls my neighborhood one of the South’s “Best Comeback Neighborhoods.” New bars and restaurants are showing up in place of dilapidated buildings. Historic theaters are being restored. There is celebration about the revitalization of this community.
But as more young professionals and fancy restaurants are coming in, I can’t help but notice those who are moving out.

The first time I ever heard the word, gentrification, was from a black man on the south side of Chicago who was giving me a tour of his neighborhood and speaking about all of the changes that have happened since more affluent people had shown up where he was living. The rise in property values and property taxes of his neighborhood forced most of his neighbors to eventually move out to a cheaper community while outsiders continued to swarm in. Gentrification to Southern Living Magazine is a cause for a celebration. Gentrification to my friend in Chicago is a very bad word.

I don’t quite yet know how I feel about the choice my husband and I made in living in our neighborhood. We are uncomfortably aware of what is changing even in our two years of living here. We are committed to participating in the community, and not just that of where the young professionals are hanging out. My husband and I are members of our Neighborhood Association which is led by a handful of 60-something-year-old African Americans who have been a part of the neighborhood for most of their lives. Our next door neighbor, Mr. Robinson, has lived on our street for 40 years and is one of the main leaders of the Association. On average, about 15-20 neighbors come together on the second Tuesday of the month for a meeting to hear a report from the police, a representative from the mayor’s office and to discuss any particular neighborhood issues. Afterward, we share a community meal together which is usually a bean chili or Little Caesar’s Pizza.

This week’s meeting was noticeably mixed in representation and certainly in views and ideas of how the group should be run and what its primary issues should be. There were moments that were uncomfortable with unspoken disagreement and I can’t help but wonder how that divide may continue to grow. And yet there were other moments that exposed a strong sense of community simply because we are uniting under a deep love and care for a shared place that every one of us calls home. I simply hope that this will remain true.