Gnaizda was not alone in that conclusion: other grassroots efforts to stop foreclosures have been sprouting up all over California. In metropolitan Los Angeles and Oakland, groups like ACORN had already established an effective infrastructure to organize low-income homeowners. A list of community demands that came out of a December 2007 ACORN-sponsored meeting at an Oakland senior center became the basis for a July state law requiring banks to warn homeowners thirty days before filing a notice of default. The law is credited with dramatically lowering foreclosure rates in California for two months after it took effect. (Predictably, foreclosure rates resumed their northward climb after that.)
More recently, ACORN has been pushing the adoption of the program the group helped pioneer in Philadelphia, a mandatory mediation process that forces lenders to negotiate with homeowners before filing a judgment of default. "If they can't figure this out in Sacramento," says ACORN's Austin King, "they're not trying."
Much of the local organizing on the issue, though, has not come from the usual activist suspects. Circumstances have forced groups that usually practice more staid forms of engagement into the fray, particularly in the former industrial towns just beyond the urban fringe, which have been among those hit hardest by the economic collapse. The antiforeclosure movement in Antioch, about thirty-five miles east of Vallejo, began with ten people forming an organizing committee at a local Catholic church. "We just heard dozens and dozens of stories of people struggling to keep their homes, of people losing their homes. They couldn't get any of the banks to respond or even speak to them," says Adam Kruggel, executive director of Contra Costa Interfaith Supporting Community Organization (CCISCO). Two hundred and fifty people showed up at the group's first meeting on the issue. "We sort of deputized ourselves," Kruggel says. "The government wasn't regulating the banks, so we were going to embarrass them in public."
The strategy worked. CCISCO protested in front of several Antioch bank branches in May. Lenders soon began returning the group's phone calls and agreeing to renegotiate their members' loans. But the Bush administration's bailout plan generated enough anger that, Kruggel says, "we realized we needed to work on a local and national level. For less than what [the Treasury] gave Wells Fargo, they could create a loan-modification program that could save a million and a half families their homes." CCISCO began coordinating with similar efforts one county over in Stockton and halfway across the country in Kansas City, and the group sent a lobbying delegation to Washington. It's asking for a six-month freeze on foreclosures and a cap on mortgage payments at 34 percent of family income. "Any bank that got any bailout money needs to do systematic loan modifications," Kruggel says. "We're not going to wait for the Obama administration."
Craig Robbins, who directs ACORN's foreclosure campaign, echoes Kruggel's sentiment: "We're excited about some of the things Obama has been saying, but there's got to be tremendous pressure for a real, comprehensive federal solution." Taking cues from Depression-era antiforeclosure movements, ACORN activists began disrupting foreclosure sales at courthouses across the country in Januaary. "We're looking to throw a wrench in the foreclosure machinery," says Robbins, adding that ACORN is planning to organize "rapid defense teams" ready to turn out crowds on short notice to prevent evictions. Until that happens, it might help to remember that the crowd of thousands that came to the Sparanga family's defense in Cleveland didn't gather until four years into the Depression. This one has just begun.