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But Seattle's wealth and homeownership gap persists. In the wake of the murder of George Floyd by a Minneapolis police officer and mass protests, local real estate agents began to discuss racism in the industry. (The analysis did not include Seattle because of a lack of sufficient data on primarily Black neighborhoods, according to Redfin.) A recent Redfin analysis found the average home in a primarily Black neighborhood is worth $46,000 less than a comparable home in a white neighborhood with similar amenities. Homes in predominantly white neighborhoods have appreciated faster than comparable homes in communities of color. The other showed Gossett's father three homes, all in the Central Area.Īcross the country, that type of housing discrimination has led to ongoing wealth and homeownership gaps.ĭespite federal protections, discrimination is still documented in rentals, home sales and the appraisals that assign home values. Two Realtors made clear he wasn't welcome: The first told him he'd be "run out of the business" for selling to a Black family in West Seattle, said Gossett, a civil rights activist and former County Council member. In the mid-1950s, Larry Gossett's father hoped to buy a home in West Seattle near his job at the post office. Real estate agents were also regularly unwilling to show homes to people of color in predominantly white neighborhoods. At least a dozen neighborhoods excluded Jewish people, researchers found.
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Racial restrictions were common across Seattle outside the Central District and Chinatown International District, effectively gating off subdivisions from Jefferson Park to West Seattle, Capitol Hill and Sand Point - plus Bellevue, Mercer Island, Auburn, Burien and other suburbs, according to UW research. The effort also raises questions about whether policymakers and the real estate industry should be doing more to address the lasting effects of housing discrimination that reach far beyond the covenants. The new legislation restarts the project of uncovering and raising awareness of the racist language in a region that may think of itself as exempt from the the kind of segregation that was common in the American South, but where housing discrimination was pervasive. "That was a real hurtful time in our history and so I just think it should be taken off so we don't have to be reminded of it," she said. The language is painful, even if it's no longer enforceable, Smick said. "Once they become aware, they want to do something about it." Javier Valdez, a Democrat who represents northeast Seattle and sponsored the bill, which was backed by Realtor lobbyists. "Most folks really just aren't aware this kind of language exists in their documents," said Rep.
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EWU will search in 20 counties east of the Cascades. UW researchers will comb through records in King, Pierce and Snohomish counties. Each university will get $125,000 a year for two years to fund the research. But they believe many more could still be on the books, said UW history professor James Gregory, who has led the research.Ī bill state lawmakers passed this month directs UW and Eastern Washington University to search for more covenants and notify property owners when their homes are affected. University of Washington researchers have investigated such covenants before, finding language affecting about 20,000 properties in King County. The language hasn't been legally enforceable in decades, but remains in old property records. Racial covenants prohibited people of certain races, nationalities and religions from living in certain neighborhoods until housing discrimination was outlawed in the 1960s. In some cases, that racism is still part of the public record. "It was whites only."įor many families across the region and the state, memories of housing discrimination and segregation are still clear. "The guy, a builder, said, 'You're welcome to come look, but I'm sorry I can't sell to you,'" Smick said. Smick's father, a second-generation Japanese-American who had been incarcerated during World War II, rolled down the window to ask about the property. Marlene Smick remembers sitting in the back seat of her parents' car in 1958 as the family spotted an open house sign in Seward Park.