Olivia: Imagine spending 88% of your income just to keep a roof over your head. Not in a luxury high-rise, but in a rundown duplex with a fist-sized hole in the living room window. For most of us, that's unthinkable. But for millions of Americans, it's a Tuesday. And in that world, one small misstep—a sick child, a funeral, even a teenage snowball fight—can trigger an eviction. Jackson: And that’s the moment we need to freeze on. We tend to think of eviction as the tragic end of a story about poverty. The final consequence. But what if it’s the beginning? What if that pink eviction notice isn't the final chapter, but the first page of a much darker, more complex story that actively manufactures poverty? Olivia: That is the paradigm-shifting heart of Matthew Desmond’s Pulitzer Prize-winning book, Evicted: Poverty and Profit in the American City. It’s a book that doesn't just report on poverty; it gets you to feel it in your bones. Jackson: Today, we’re diving deep into this astonishing work from two powerful perspectives. First, we'll explore how eviction itself is a machine that creates poverty, not just a result of it. Olivia: Then, we'll flip the script and look at the business of poverty—how landlords navigate a world where destitution can be incredibly profitable. It's a journey into the heart of the American city, and it will change how you see the world outside your own front door.

Olivia: Let's start with that snowball, Jackson. It sounds almost absurd, but it's the perfect, gut-wrenching entry point into the life of Arleen, one of the central figures in this book. Arleen is a single mother in Milwaukee, raising two sons, 14-year-old Jori and 6-year-old Jafaris. Jackson: And like you said, it all starts with a moment of teenage carelessness. Jori and his cousin are throwing snowballs at passing cars. Jori packs a really good one, smacks a car, and the driver, enraged, jumps out, follows the boys to their apartment, and kicks the door in. Olivia: Thank God, he leaves before anything worse happens. But the damage is done. When Arleen’s landlord finds out about the broken door, she doesn't see a scared family. She sees a liability. She decides to evict Arleen and her two boys for "damaging property." Arleen can't afford to fix the door, and she certainly can't afford to fight the eviction. Jackson: So just like that, the ground gives way. Where do they go? Olivia: They go to the Salvation Army homeless shelter. And Desmond notes this heartbreaking detail: everyone in Milwaukee calls it "the Lodge." It’s a small mercy, a way for a mother to tell her kids, "We’re staying at the Lodge tonight," as if it were a motel, trying to shield them from the brutal reality of their situation. Jackson: It’s an attempt to normalize the unthinkable. But the reality is, they are now on the hunt. And the book makes it painfully clear what that hunt looks like at the bottom of the rental market. Olivia: It’s a desperate scramble. They find one place, a whole house for $525 a month. Arleen later remembers it as her "favorite place" because it was quiet. But there was often no water. Her son Jori had to bucket out what was in the toilet. Eventually, the city condemns it as "unfit for human habitation," and men with hard hats board up the windows and doors. The family is on the move again. Jackson: And this is where the book’s central argument really comes into focus. Eviction isn't just a one-time event. It's a catalyst for a downward spiral. The data Desmond collected is staggering. He found that, all else being equal, families that are evicted move from poor neighborhoods to even poorer ones. From dangerous neighborhoods to neighborhoods with even higher crime rates. Olivia: Exactly. Arleen tells Jori, "We take whatever we can get." And what she can get is a drab, two-bedroom unit on 13th Street. The carpet is filthy, the door has to be locked with a wooden plank, and there's that fist-sized hole in the living room window. For this, the rent is $550 a month. Jackson: And how much is she making? Olivia: Her entire monthly welfare check is $628. The rent consumes 88% of her income. That leaves her with about $2 a day per person for everything else: food, clothes, soap, bus fare, everything. Under those conditions, there is no margin for error. You don't need a major shock to get evicted. A minor one will do. Jackson: It’s a state of perpetual crisis. And this isn't just Arleen's story. Desmond’s research found that in Milwaukee, 1 in 8 renters experienced a forced move every two years. And that’s not just court-ordered evictions. He found that informal evictions—where the landlord says "get out by Sunday and I'll give you $200," or just takes the door off the hinges—are even more common. It's a constant, churning instability. Olivia: And it has profound psychological effects. Desmond published a separate study showing that mothers experience significantly higher rates of depression for at least two years after an eviction. Arleen herself says at one point, "I'm fixing to have a nervous breakdown. My body's trying to shut down... My soul is messed up." Jackson: It’s this idea that eviction leaves a "deep and jagged scar on the next generation." Jori, her son, went to five different schools between 7th and 8th grade. How can a child learn, how can a family build a life, when they are constantly being uprooted? Olivia: They can't. And that’s the core of it. The eviction itself is the trauma that destabilizes everything else. It’s not just the result of her poverty; it’s the engine creating more of it, pushing her deeper and deeper into a hole. It’s a brutal, self-perpetuating machine. Jackson: A machine that, as we're about to see, is not just brutal, but also profitable. And that spiral, Olivia, isn't happening in a vacuum. Someone owns that rundown duplex. Someone is collecting that $550 check. This brings us to the other side of the eviction equation, the part we rarely talk about: the landlords.

Jackson: And in this book, we meet Sherrena, Arleen’s landlord. And what's so brilliant about Desmond's work is that Sherrena is not a cartoon villain twirling a mustache. She's a complex, driven, and often sympathetic character. She’s a former fourth-grade teacher who got into the property business and is now a very successful landlord in Milwaukee's inner city. Olivia: She is. And she has these moments of real empathy. She brings Arleen groceries when she first moves in. But at the end of the day, she's running a business. And the book is unflinching in showing the cold calculus of that business. Jackson: There's this incredible quote from Sherrena, when she's debating whether to evict Lamar, a tenant who is a double amputee, a man with no legs who has fallen behind on rent. She says to herself, "I guess I got to stop feeling sorry for these people because nobody is feeling sorry for me. Last time I checked, the mortgage company still wanted their money." Olivia: And later, she says to her husband, Quentin, "Love don't pay the bills." That line just cuts right to the bone. It encapsulates the entire dilemma. She might have a heart, but the logic of the market is relentless. Jackson: It is. And Desmond’s research reveals just how lucrative that market can be. He wondered why anyone would buy property in some of the poorest, most dilapidated neighborhoods. By the end of his research, he was wondering why wouldn't you? The property values are rock bottom, so mortgages and taxes are low. But because the demand for housing is so desperate, you can charge rents that are disproportionately high relative to the property's value. Olivia: It creates this incredible profit margin. Sherrena herself says it best: "The ’hood is good. There’s a lot of money there." She's not wrong. She and Quentin collect roughly $20,000 in rent each month and estimate their net worth at around $2 million. Jackson: And this is where the power imbalance becomes so stark. Tenants like Arleen are in a constant state of precarity, one missed welfare appointment away from homelessness. For landlords like Sherrena, it's a business, and eviction is one of the tools of that business. It’s a way to deal with non-payment, but also to maintain control. Olivia: We see this play out with the Hinkston family. They're living in one of Sherrena's properties, and it's a mess. Roaches, plumbing issues, broken appliances. But they're behind on rent. And the book explains this cruel catch-22: when you're in arrears, you lose your legal standing. You can't demand repairs or call a building inspector without risking immediate eviction. Jackson: It's an implicit contract. Sherrena's attitude is, "I give you a break, you give me a break." The break she gives them is housing they otherwise couldn't get. The break they give her is that they don't complain about the substandard conditions. It's a trade of dignity for shelter. Olivia: And it’s a system that can even exploit government programs designed to help. The book details how landlords can charge tenants with housing vouchers more than the market rate, because the government guarantees the payment. One study found this practice cost taxpayers an extra $3.6 million a year in Milwaukee alone. Jackson: It’s a perfect example of an extractive market. The system isn't just failing to help; it's creating opportunities for profit from the very vulnerability it's supposed to alleviate. It’s not just about individual good or bad landlords; it’s about a market structure that incentivizes this behavior. Olivia: And it all culminates in eviction court. Desmond describes it as a place where 90% of landlords have lawyers, and 90% of tenants do not. Most tenants, like Arleen, don't even show up. It's an unequal fight from the start. Jackson: The book makes a powerful, and I think undeniable, comparison. It says, "If incarceration had come to define the lives of men from impoverished black neighborhoods, eviction was shaping the lives of women. Poor black men were locked up. Poor black women were locked out." Olivia: That line is unforgettable. It reframes the entire issue. It’s not just a housing problem. It’s a civil rights issue, a women's issue, a fundamental question of who gets to be stable and secure in America, and who is left to the brutal logic of the market.

Olivia: So when you put it all together, Jackson, you're left with this devastatingly clear picture. We have these two interlocking pieces. On one hand, a brutal eviction process that acts like a trapdoor, catching families in a cycle of instability and dropping them into ever-deeper poverty. Jackson: And on the other hand, a surprisingly profitable business model that thrives on that very desperation. It’s a system where the lack of affordable housing isn't just a social problem; it's a market opportunity. The book forces you to see poverty not as a personal failing, but as a relationship between the exploited and the exploiters. Olivia: It’s a relationship where, as Desmond writes, "the rent eats first." Before food, before medicine, before clothes for your children, the rent must be paid. And when it can't be, the consequences are catastrophic and long-lasting. Jackson: Ultimately, Evicted does more than just document a crisis. It challenges us to ask a fundamental question about our country's values. We've decided, as a society, that people have a right to basic nutrition through food stamps, a right to an education, a right to legal counsel if accused of a crime. But when it comes to housing, the most basic foundation for a stable life, we largely leave it to the whims of the market. Olivia: The book leaves you with this powerful, lingering thought: what would it mean if we truly believed a stable home isn't a privilege to be earned, but an essential right for everyone? Jackson: What would our cities, and our people, look like then? It’s a question that’s impossible to ignore after reading this book. It demands that we stop seeing housing as just a commodity, and start seeing it as the wellspring of life itself. A place where, as Desmond says, we can finally remove our masks and just be ourselves.