At 30, Coalition Still Thriving on People Power By HEATHER HADDON
"She didn't know who to talk to, so I passed along little hints," said Cruz, 31, of North Fordham. "I told her that 'if you need help, I'm right here for you.'" Three years ago -- before she got involved with the Northwest Bronx Community and Clergy Coalition -- Cruz wouldn't have had such knowledge and experience to pass on. "I've accomplished a lot with them," said the mother of three, who, with other parents, successfully lobbied to get speed bumps installed around PS 54. "I'm proud of working with them. We back each other up."
"The truth is I've learned so much from them," said Ivan Figueroa of North Fordham, who got involved because of poor conditions in his building. "I've learned how to deal with people and public speaking. I've learned how things can get done when working as a whole group." Tackling community problems By connecting residents to each other and empowering them to speak for themselves, the Coalition has tackled difficult community problems -- from sanitation and public safety, to neglected housing and bank redlining. The Coalition was founded at a time when rampant arson and building abandonment were ripping through the south Bronx and headed north. Signs of neglect in long-stable neighborhoods were beginning to appear. But it is not a coincidence that the same level of man-made devastation did not take root above the Cross Bronx Expressway, the southern-most boundary of the Coalition's territory. "[The Coalition] began out of a sense of crisis," said Father John Dello Russo, the current pastor of St. Nicholas of Tolentine Church on Fordham Road. "The Bronx was going through a major change, and the clergy were helpful in galvanizing people . . . to keep our community here."
The organization quickly grew to cover several northwest Bronx communities, from Mount Hope in the south to Norwood and Kingsbridge Heights to the north. And it quickly became known as an organization of ordinary people doing extraordinary things, like negotiating with city commissioners, or paying unannounced visits to the homes or offices of decision makers who weren't being cooperative. When the Bronx was nearly written off by city leaders, their work succeeded in securing emergency housing inspections, forcing banks to reinvest in the northwest Bronx and pressing city agencies to give the area its fair share of services. Many of the Coalition's leaders - what the group calls its members - started on the path to community activism because of problems right in their own homes. In 1986, tenants in Myra Goggins' building in Norwood were faced with major rent hikes after the landlord announced that he was doing repairs, most of which the tenants thought were unnecessary. "It was really confusing on how we had to respond," said Goggins, now 67. But organizer Mary Dailey, who is now the Coalition's executive director, encouraged Goggins to organize her building to beat back the MCI (major capital improvement) increases. She was successful and she helped lead an effort to get the state to lessen the financial burden of improvements on tenants. Knocking on doors Though many people come to the group because of their concern for local schools or safe parks, tenant associations are still a major building block of the Coalition's work. And they often get their start with a Coalition organizer (there is at least one paid organizer in each of 10 neighborhood associations) knocking on doors in a troubled building. "The heart of it [organizing] is trying to connect people to each other," said Chloe Tribich, 25, a Coalition organizer in Norwood for the past three years. Tenant associations often grow into campaigns to pressure landlords to make improvements. In a recent campaign at 15-19 Mosholu Parkway, tenants put pressure on the city to do inspections and held a protest at the building. After eight months of pressure from tenants, improvements were finally made. More recently, parents have become active through education issues. Norwood resident Ronn Jordan began working on school issues with the Coalition in 1996 when he was told that his son and other kindergartners at PS 56 would be bused to the southern part of the district. "Most of my friends think I am insane," said Jordan about the long hours he's devoted to efforts around the Kingsbridge Armory and school overcrowding. "But this was kind of like therapy for me. It was a way to channel my anger [that I felt toward the school system.]" It's also a means for residents to realize their common struggles. "There are so many people dealing with the same exact issues," said Jordan, who is the current board president. "The Coalition gives a forum for us to get stronger." Making demands A staple of a big coalition meeting with top city officials is a scorecard of the group's "demands" and checkmarks in the yes or no column. And though some officials may bristle at the Coalition's tactics, they also see the organization's value. "They should be" tough on us, said Council Member Joel Rivera, who has worked closely with the Coalition on some issues but occasionally spars with them on others. "The job of grassroots groups is to make sure their elected officials are doing their jobs. We need organizations like them." While many officials have a complicated relationship with the Coalition, they certainly can't ignore them. Dailey estimates that roughly 10,000 residents work with one of the Coalition's committees or tenant associations. About 20 local houses of worship are affiliated with the organization and 300 teenagers are involved with Sistas and Brothas United (SBU), their youth group, which has been involved in pressing for the creation of a youth center in North Fordham as well as the armory campaign. The Coalition prides itself on the diversity of its membership. "The Coalition brings together a unique cross-section of the population," said Rev. Katrina Foster of Fordham Lutheran Church. Being able to work with different races and faiths proved critical after Sept. 11. "They were very instrumental in bridging the gap," said Rafeek Khan, a leader in the Masjid- Hefaz mosque on 198th Street. Khan got involved in the Coalition through a series of open discussions to address anti-Muslim sentiments. "The Coalition makes you feel comfortable right away," he said. Despite all the accomplishments, even diehard members struggle with the workload, especially on long campaigns -- like the filtration plant and the armory -- where progress is slow or absent. And the long hours can lead to staff turnover. "We definitely over-commit ourselves sometimes," Tribich said. Tribich keeps motivated by watching residents blossom into activists. "The best moments are when you see the people you've worked with negotiate with a public official or do something they thought they couldn't do," she said. Foster agrees. "It's absolutely a source of pride" to watch people in her congregation take on new challenges, she said. "They are unafraid and articulate. They can talk about intricate bureaucratic structure. Rather than slip into apathy, they've seen what can happen when people work together." And for many members, it's those personal victories -- in addition to the successful campaigns -- that drives them on. "I never thought I would be able to do this," said Jordan, whose children are already showing interest in activism. "I always thought 'I'm just some resident,' but we have a lot of power." Jordan Moss contributed to this article.
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Last month, Mirianette Cruz taped a row of business cards to a piece of paper and made a
copy of it for Norma Quinones, MS 254's parent coordinator. In a neat row were the
names and numbers of officials who Cruz thought might be helpful in the school's quest
to turn a nearby lot into an auditorium.
Since its inception, the Coalition has excelled at supporting residents in their struggles to
improve local living conditions. Now in its 30th year -- with a gala celebration to be held
next week -- staff and members of the grassroots group have many successes to look
back on. And for many, those achievements have not only benefited the neighborhood,
but themselves.
Working with a Jesuit seminarian at Fordham University named Paul Brant, local clergy
launched the Coalition in 1974 with about $17,000 from Dollar Savings Bank and other
businesses. They hired six organizers and kept them on with donations from the Sunday
collection plate.
