Trouble no longer the BHA foundation

20 August 2004

For a long time I thought its name was the TBHA - the Troubled Boston Housing Authority - because one rarely heard it otherwise. 1975: A federal judge puts the troubled Boston Housing Authority into court receivership. 1992: Construction fraud costs the troubled BHA $22 million. 1997: Heroin is rife in the troubled BHA's Old Colony development. 1999: Aggrieved minority residents sue the troubled BHA.

These days, however, it's back to just BHA. The scandals are gone, racial strife has subsided and the 64 public housing developments are getting cleaned up. Eight years into her term as the agency's administrator, Sandra Henriquez presides over a remarkable turnaround.

For decades, Boston's public housing had been a dumping ground. Mayors chose administrators for their political connections, patronage was common, and the bureaucracy was sclerotic and uncaring. Developments were squalid and rundown places where crime was rampant, racial tensions high and drugs everywhere. After Mayor Thomas Menino fired BHA administrator David Cortiella in 1994, the job remained open for two years as a search committee evaluated resumes, interviewed candidates, made offers - and then found itself, twice, turned down.

At the time, Henriquez was a partner in a private property management firm. She saw a newspaper ad and sent in a resume. After some early interviews, however, she withdrew. Friends had warned her it was a fool's mission: The job was too political and the bureaucracy would resist any efforts to reform.

Eventually she reconsidered. Politically unconnected, the first time she met Menino was when he interviewed her for the position. The mayor told her what she needed to hear: She would have both the time and the independence to get the job done.

He's been good to his word, she says. She is now the longest serving BHA administrator in recent memory. The reforms she immediately began pushing have started to bear fruit. Her revamped senior management team meets weekly to review all significant policy issues. She requires outside review of every contract she signs. Property management runs like a private business: customer-focused and with specific performance goals. She holds tenants responsible for their behavior, with a one-strike-and-you're-evicted policy for any who sell drugs or are involved in racially motivated incidents.

The progress is measurable. Each year the U.S. Department of Housing and Urban Development evaluates housing agencies across the country, ranking them on the basis of management competence, financial controls, physical condition and resident feedback. BHA's numbers have climbed steadily, going from a score of 78 in 2000 to a new high this year of 86.

One can see the improvements, most strikingly, in terms of race. In 1999, at the same time minority tenants were launching their lawsuit, the federal government accused the BHA of "systematic discrimination." Henriquez persuaded the city to settle the lawsuit and then embarked on a difficult effort to change the culture in Boston's public housing.

It worked. The number of civil rights complaints dropped from 288 in 2000 to a projected level of fewer than 100 for this year. By 2003, the plaintiffs and the federal government were praising the new BHA.

In fact, the BHA so effectively has turned around its reputation that this fall it will implement a new housing assignment policy, one that allows tenants to choose where they want to live. Most everyone has welcomed the reform. Yet just a few years ago, many would have denounced it as a subterfuge for resegregation.

None of this has come easy, nor is the agency anywhere close to perfection. Just 18 months ago, for example, in a move city officials branded as politically motivated, HUD blasted the BHA for the substandard quality of its developments. It launched a series of intrusive investigations. The relationship between HUD and the BHA soured. One HUD official labeled the BHA a "rogue agency."

"They weren't even talking to me anymore," Henriquez says.

The two agencies have since made peace. Indeed, the bright side of HUD's aggressive inquiries, Henriquez believes, is that they persuaded the feds that the BHA really has improved.

Henriquez loves her job, yet despite her successes she is frustrated. The BHA houses roughly 27,000 and administers Section 8 subsidies for another 25,000. If everyone now living in BHA developments somehow disappeared, she notes, their spots instantly could be filled from its waiting list. She has struggled to manage as federal budget reductions have forced layoffs. For lack of new money, she had to close the Section 8 waiting list. The remarkable HOPE VI program (which has remade three of the city's worst developments) has been eliminated.

Public housing, Henriquez says, makes tangible the idea that "we are our brother's keepers." Beset by budget cuts, she nevertheless has proven it possible to run a big city housing authority efficiently and well. What hurts is that she can't serve all those who need it.