Corona Daily 009: Romeo Budhoo’s Story: Part Final

In February 2021, Budhoo had attended a landlord rally in front of the official residence of Governor Cuomo. The rally leader said the moratorium was not fair for landlords, because they were not super-rich landlords like Donald Trump. For landlords to get any funds from the state, the tenant must do much paperwork. There is no incentive for the tenants to do it.

“They are telling themselves - Why should we go and do all these things and hustle to apply when nobody can put us out of the apartment?” Budhoo said. Alfonzo Hill, his tenant had not participated in the summer 2020 relief program. Even when the renters signed up for relief, many landlords were scared, because for a year since signing they lost the right to evict a tenant. Budhoo didn’t belong to that camp. He was willing to try and co-operate with Hill to push forward the paperwork.

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He kept returning to his house at 1042 Cutler. One morning he parked his car and watched the front door for any sign of Alfonzo Hill. In his imagination, he often pictured Hill coming out with a monthly check or even the entire $12,000 he owed. He counted the empty cans on the porch. He sent a text message to his wife, “nothing yet.” Budhoo listened to music and played a video game on his phone, before realizing he had wasted too much time.

He was not authorized to enter the house, or demand payment, or evict the tenant.

Budhoo saw some movement further down the road. A woman was throwing clothes from inside the house on the lawn. It looked like an eviction. Curious, Budhoo drove close to the house.

“Are you the landlord?” He asked the woman. She said yes.

“Wow. Congratulations.” He said, pointing to all the trash thrown out on the lawn. “I have been trying to get back my house for over a year. How did you do it?”

“It’s not what you think.” The lady said. “I didn’t evict. They just left.”

“Hey, come on.” Said Budhoo.

The landlady laughed and explained how she had systematically applied pressure the whole year.  She had bombarded the tenant with eviction paperwork and notices, though she knew eviction was not possible. She stopped repairing anything, filed a case in small claims court. She served notice on her debtors to legally seize their wages or savings. Eventually, they got sick and decided to vacate on their own.

“I like to be reasonable, but it’s either my house or theirs.” She said. Her victory was visually spread in front of Budhoo. An empty house, and in front of it 28 garbage bags piled high on the sidewalk, an overturned chest of drawers, a child’s mattress soaked through by rain and thousands of grains of rice scattered all across the street.

“I have been lucky.” She said. “I only rent good people, and most have paid. It seems like other landlords are going under, but I am actually trying to invest. I am looking to buy.”

Budhoo helped her pick up the garbage bags and threw them in the industrial dumpster.

“I might have an opportunity for you.” He said. “You know that house 1042 Cutler? It’s a good house. I can give you a good price.”

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The true story written by Eli Saslow ends at this point. He doesn’t tell us whether Romeo Budhoo succeeded in selling the house to the lady. He probably didn’t. But that’s not the point.

The story is about the human crisis for tenants as well as small landlords. On the 31 July midnight, America’s ban on evictions expired, putting millions of American renters at the risk of being evicted from their homes. More than 15 million people in 6.5 million homes have defaulted on rents over $20 billion to landlords.

On 3 August, the Biden administration imposed a new 60-day moratorium in parts of the USA, citing the spread of the delta variant. The can has been kicked one more time down the road. Romeo Budhoo’s wait to get his house back continues.

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Ravi