Living in Housing Projects as a White Minority

At the age of 32, I found myself abandoned by my husband, wondering where to go. With five children, all of whom I was determined to continue home schooling, a very limited income from child support, and a ruined credit record, my choices were slim. After applying to nearly all of the apartment complexes in our area and being turned down for having too many people or not enough money or poor credit, I settled on a low income inner city housing project on the edge of downtown Syracuse. Maybe it wasn't the worse neighborhood in the city but it was pretty close.

My determination to make the best of what appeared to be a bad situation persisted. The apartment was actually pretty nice. It was bigger than any of the other places that we had looked at, and the rent was reasonable especially since it included all utilities. It was a town home so we had our own front and back doors and a huge relatively secluded courtyard with crabapple trees where I imagined the kids playing joyfully when the weather was nice. The rooms were big and spacious, and it had an open modern feeling. I moved in one weekend while the kids were with their dad, put everything in its new place, and greeted them enthusiastically when they came home Sunday night.

I told them that this was a grand adventure. We had a bright, sunshiny, clean new apartment where we could make a new start. There were tons of kids to play with and lots of room to run. Then I reluctantly let them explore the courtyard while I watched nervously from the back window. The first step to survival is having a positive attitude.

The particular apartment complex was composed of about fifty percent blacks and about fifty percent Vietnamese immigrants. Being white, I was an extreme minority. Survival strategy number two was being myself and treating my new neighbors the same way I'd treat anyone. In a neighborhood where random violence not unheard of, and there is a drug dealer or two or three on every corner, it is important for everyone to help out each other. Everyone kept an eye on each other's kids, and after my initial adjustment period, I felt that my kids were safer than they had ever been.

My third survival tip is to learn as much as you can about your neighborhood and to take advantage of any benefits you can find. We could walk to several parks, two swimming pools, and a large library. There were two neighborhood centers with activities for everyone from preschoolers to teens. There was a women's co-op that met at one of the centers where we shared ideas and skills to make our lives better. The monthly community dinners and biweekly community breakfasts at a nearby church were eagerly anticipated. These were all places to meet our neighbors, make friends, and live a full life.

Perhaps my most important survival tip is to get involved. I found out that although many of the Vietnamese women in the complex had been in the U.S. for over fifteen years, most of them spoke little English and had not become citizens. I started tutoring some of the women I had met and was honored when one of them chose to take my name when she became a citizen. I also tutored children in the neighborhood, and my kids shared their library books and school paraphernalia with their friends. I was surprised that some of the kids didn't know that there were libraries outside of schools and had never seen a globe.

We stayed in the projects for six years, and although we are now glad to have moved onto something else, we look back on those years as a good time in our lives. It taught us all how to live and get along with those who have different backgrounds from ourselves, and that we are not really all that different from each other inside.