I've heard a lot about these mythical eviction parties, where tenants tossed to the curb by their money-grabby landlords celebrate their former homes with beer and destructive mayhem. Fortunately, I had never once come across one for myself until yesterday evening.
Sadly all-to-common throughout the turbulent late-90s, when social justice activists were booted to make room for open source activists, they seem to have died off in recent years (one notable exception from two years ago notwithstanding). However, the eviction of the Capp Street Commune at Capp and 20th seems like a particularly eery omen of what's to come, given the Commune was right next door to the SF Tenants Union. If their neighbors, arguably one of the most adept organization at protecting tenants in the city, couldn't help them, what does that say for the rest of us?
I invited myself into the party, hoping to catch someone light the first match, or at least take a swing of the sledgehammer of "fuck yous." But there was no retributive property destruction, just melancholy and boxed belongings. Not much of an eviction party, at least in the eyes of a kid who spent his youth burning matchbooks for fun.
On my way out, I asked a guy clearly suffering from a case of the bummers if he lived in the house, hoping to get the story behind the eviction.
"Naw man, no one lives here."