Santa Rita Courts: From 'Historic' to 'Hipster' in 5 Easy Steps

Ah, the sweet, sweet sound of progress—or as we like to call it in Austin, 'gentrification with a side of tax credits.' Santa Rita Courts, the oldest public housing project in the U.S., is finally getting the corporate-sponsored facelift it never asked for. Because nothing says 'we care about the poor' like bulldozing their homes and promising to maybe let them come back in five years if they can still afford the bus fare to check on the construction site.

Let’s be real: these buildings are older than your abuela’s tamale recipe, and they’ve got the mold and roaches to prove it. But hey, who needs insulation when you’ve got 'community spirit' and 'historic charm'? The Housing Authority of Austin, in its infinite wisdom, has decided that the best way to honor this legacy is to tear most of it down and replace it with four-story buildings that’ll probably have those trendy exposed concrete walls and a $12 avocado toast café by 2029.

And don’t worry, current residents get 'first right of return'—which is real estate speak for 'we’ll hold your spot while you couch-surf for half a decade.' Sure, the new complex will have a pre-K program and a basketball court, but let’s not kid ourselves: the real winners here are the developers who’ll turn this into another Instagrammable 'mixed-income community' (read: a place where the original residents can’t afford to live).

Meanwhile, the city council is patting itself on the back for 'prioritizing equity' while ignoring the fact that this whole mess is just another chapter in Austin’s favorite pastime: displacing poor people and calling it 'urban renewal.' Santa Rita’s location is 'ideal,' they say—walking distance to H-E-B, parks, and Lady Bird Lake. Translation: prime real estate for the next batch of tech bros who’ll complain about the lack of artisanal coffee shops.

So here’s to you, Santa Rita. May your moldy walls and roach-infested foundations rest in peace. And to the residents? Good luck finding a new place to call home before the bulldozers roll in. At least you’ll always have the memories—and the GoFundMe pages.