Housing Discrimination Against Lesbians

Though it had great features such as hardwood floors, lots of room, a cool kitchen, fenced in yard, and old-fashioned claw foot bathtub among other amenities, I was soon to be judged not for my job, looks, or ability to pay but for my sexuality.

At the time I had just gotten into my first lesbian relationship with a woman named Barbara, a sweet, nurturing, headstrong, fun, intelligent, talented musician who had worked for the phone company for 20 plus years where she dealt with discrimination on a daily basis, something that forced her to retire from that job early.

Naively, I would try to hold hands with her in public or put my arm around her in the car but she would quickly educate me that “We’re in Texas, hunny. We’ll get shot at if anyone sees that!”

As inexperienced as I was I did know enough about fear and hate crime stories coupled with my own experience in a children’s home to know that authority figures such as landlords would frown on me and Barbara’s relationship.

I didn’t realize, however, just how much they would disapprove and to what lengths they would go to to get me out of that apartment over a two-year period.

“We didn’t know who she was, “my male landlord would explain as to why repairs weren’t done for the umpteenth time though I had arranged for the repairman to meet Barbara at my apartment while I was at work.

I was questioned constantly about having a roommate as more costs were attempted to be added on to my monthly rent since the real estate agency didn’t allow roommates. Barbara was at my place a lot but we didn’t live together.

Soon erroneous complaints started surfacing such as the lady next door who happened to be friends with the landlord and started complaining about barking dogs that weren’t mine on a regular basis.

Then I was often asked by my landlord about my marital status and if I was dating anyone, who they were, their name, occupation, where they lived.

Eventually work orders got mysteriously misplaced, late fees were assessed for no reason, and Barbara was often questioned as to her involvement with me, the extent, how she knew me, and to what lengths was she infiltrated in my life.

One day I was asked if Barbara had a key, if she planned on moving in, why she had to be the one to meet repairmen while I was at work, and did I not have anyone else who could be the contact person besides me.

Interestingly enough wires got crossed and miscommunication was at an all time high by June 1997 when repairmen would show up on the wrong days when Barbara wasn’t available to meet them while I was at work. Then she would arrange a different day to meet them and they would stand her up or show up way late.

I’d get calls at work from my landlord asking more questions about Barbara and what her financial status was, if she’d be taking care of costs not included in the lease, her background, her health, her legal status, and who she was to me. This slumlord, besides being a terrible landlord regarding repairs, costs, fees, charges, people skills, and miscommunication, was clearly way too interested in my romantic relationship. Although Barbara admitted some discrimination on the part of the landlord I saw a bigger picture, a larger landscape of blatant singling out, being ostracized, counted, noted, and probed on a much more personal level. Questions arose by the landlord as to why Barbara often answered my phone, why she was the one who took care of me while I was in and out of the hospital for my Asthma, why she was the emergency contact person, and did my family know that Barbara was my “close friend.” The stress of all this began affecting me at work, at a job I’d only been in a little over a year, a high-stress job anyway. There were also times when the landlord and his staff, who followed suit with whatever actions he took, would ask how often Barbara was at my house, if she had any of her stuff there, did any of my belongings belong to her, and what her marital status was.

After I’d been in the apartment for a year the behavior on the part of the landlord got more bizarre, more intrusive, and nosy. It became rude to the point of bothersome, invasive, and meticulous. On some occasions the landlord’s staff would pretend they didn’t know who Barbara was when she would arrange repair calls; etc. There were times they would say they didn’t recall ever having met her and was suspicious of “my activities” as they put it.

Finally in December 1998 I was asked to move out for remodeling. A month after I moved out I drove by the old place to find the apartment occupied by someone new. I guessed that they got someone straight, someone who fit their mold, who didn’t have a significant female in her life who looked out for her.