Housing Crisis

Lucy Sherriff is back in Los Angeles, and coming to terms with a changed world. (Credit: Courtesy of Lucy Sherriff) We’re finally back in LA, and reality has come crashing down. It’s almost been a month since my partner, Maurice, and I lost our Palisades condo in the fires. As I was six months pregnant, we temporarily headed up the coast, to the cleaner air of Oregon and Washington, and relied (in some cases) on the kindness of strangers to take us in. But LA is our home, even though I'm from the UK originally, and we've come back to the city to try to pick up the pieces. The aftermath of destruction is emotionally, physically and financially draining. I’m still dealing with endless administration, including calling our water delivery company to make sure they’re not going to charge us for the bottles we can’t return, and Spectrum to ensure we don’t pay for equipment that burned. It’s the small things like this that tip me over the edge. While a friend had offered us her AirBnB for a few nights, we moved into a Hilton hotel in Santa Monica, as we managed to qualify for the seven free nights they were offering to victims of the fire. I was terrified about the air pollution, but figured being next to the ocean might help. I was also looking forward to being back on LA's "West Side"-- near my old neighborhood, and around familiar places. Following another long day of admin, driving around running errands, and me trying to work in between all of this, a car pulled out in front of us suddenly, causing Maurice to brake hard. The seatbelt dug deep into my belly, which was quite painful. I burst into tears -- not really from the pain, but from the shock. I realized my body was so oversaturated with adrenaline that my nerves were completely frayed. “I just want to go home!” I wailed. “To England?” Maurice asked me. “No! To the Palisades.” I felt like a child, but I couldn’t help it. I just needed to have a tantrum. I was fine after a few minutes, of course, but I simply felt exhausted. Tired of putting on a brave face and of seeing the silver lining in all of it. I just wanted to be in my own home. We were picking up Maurice’s two boys for the first time since the fire and I was feeling stressed about that, too – how they were going to react not being able to go home, and how we were all going to cope being squeezed into a hotel room for a week. The kids are homeschooled and I work from home. I also hate not being able to cook my own food. On top of that, it was his youngest’s 9th birthday and I wanted it to be special for him, amidst all this chaos. All of their Christmas presents had been destroyed in the fire, and he’d burst into tears when we’d told him all his stuffed animals had gone. Lucy's partner, Maurice, with all of their belongings. (Credit: Courtesy of Lucy Sherriff) But yet again, we were taken care of by some higher power. When we checked in at the Hilton, I asked about an upgrade. The receptionist took pity on us, and said she could move some things around and that she’d give us a suite, complimentary. I wanted to lean over and kiss her. The kids arrived and were exuberantly excited to be in a hotel -- with a pool! At 5 a.m. the next morning, I got up quietly and crept into the living room to decorate it with balloons and birthday banners while Maurice wrapped presents. Oliver had a wonderful birthday, although it felt bittersweet for us. We’re nearing the end of our Hilton stay, and the kids will go back to their mom’s for a week, before coming back to us again. They’re asking us where we’ll be staying the next time they visit, and we don’t have an answer for them. We’ve tried to find another place to rent, but the price gouging is out of control. In the Palisades, a notoriously expensive area, we were paying $3,500 for a two-bedroom condo with a patio. In Santa Monica, we can’t find a one-bedroom apartment for under $3,600. I haven’t bothered looking in other areas because now, I’m not even sure I want to stay in this city. I’ll be flying back to England at the end of the month, where my family is, and where I can get free healthcare to have my baby. I won’t have to worry about wildfires or toxic air or racking up a health bill I can’t afford. We’ll come back to the States, of course, because Maurice’s kids are here. But none of us want to be in LA anymore -- or even California. Most of our friends are talking about leaving, or have already left, setting up home in Oregon or Washington or Idaho -- driven out by high taxes, natural disaster or insurance companies revoking their home policies. Because if an insurance company refuses to write you a wildfire, or flood, or earthquake policy, the value of your home takes a plunge. Topanga, once the coveted canyon of LA’s wellness elite, is emptying out -- house prices have dropped in a neighborhood that’s always been in high demand because insurance rates went up for some homeowners by 400%. I’m writing this sitting in my hotel, looking out over the smoggy Interstate 10 freeway. On the other side of the freeway is a soup kitchen; all day, every day, there are lines of unhoused individuals waiting for a hot meal. It’s this sight that keeps me grateful. No matter how stressful the last few weeks have been, I’ve always had somewhere safe to sleep and a meal to eat. But it’s hard to ignore that California, once the golden state of opportunity, feels like a crumbling, unreliable wreck that’s shut its doors to anyone who doesn’t earn above a certain wage. Lucy Sherriff is a British journalist with over 10 years experience reporting on the environment, social justice and human rights. She is a regular contributor to The Story Exchange.

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