After a suburban woman successfully challenged a Richton Park law that penalized tenants for making calls to 911, housing advocates are pushing for more protections statewide from so-called “crime-free” policies or laws that they say can lead to evictions and other penalties without due process.
More than two years ago, Diamond Jones worried she and her children were on the verge of homelessness after her landlord gave her 10 days to move out, saying she had violated Richton Park’s crime-free ordinance, though she hadn’t been charged with a crime.
Jones sued the Cook County suburb in U.S. District Court, and she was awarded $250,000 late last year in a settlement. Advocates say Jones’ case highlights the challenges other tenants face in places with similar local laws where 911 calls — even when the person is a victim — can trigger an eviction.
The Village of Richton Park amended its crime-free ordinance after the lawsuit was filed, and now housing advocates are pushing for changes to these local laws across the state. The Chicago Lawyers’ Committee for Civil Rights, which represented Jones in the federal case, is among those advocating for Senate Bill 2264, which would bar municipalities from penalizing renters for calling 911 for help.
More than 170 municipalities across Illinois — including Chicago — had similar local laws, housing advocates estimated at the time the lawsuit was filed. These ordinances date back to the 1990s as a way to reduce crime in rental properties.
The bill would establish some protections, including:
- People wouldn’t be penalized for calling police for assistance in cases of domestic violence, dating violence, sexual assault or stalking.
- A crime-free housing coordinator would have to handle violations of the code.
- A 30-day notice would have to be issued for any crime-free violations, and tenants would be able to request a hearing at the county level.
- If an eviction was filed, it could only name whoever is convicted of a crime, not the entire household.
State Sen. Karina Villa, D-West Chicago, who reintroduced the bill, said she anticipates municipalities will push back because the current crime-free ordinances allow officials to go around eviction court. That leads to a climate in which people are scared to call police for help, she said.
“They’re fearful if they call 911 due to something that’s happening — a domestic disturbance or as a result of an issue with a mental health problem — they’re fearful that the municipality is going to force their landlord to evict them,” Villa said.
She added the bill comes as people are struggling to find affordable and stable housing. The legislation has passed the Senate Executive Committee and remains in the Senate.
In Chicago, a portion of the municipal code outlines how a property can be deemed a public nuisance, which can lead to eviction proceedings against tenants alleged to be involved in criminal activity.
How Chicago is enforcing its policy isn’t clear. The Community Safety Through Stable Homes Coalition said in a recent report about crime-free policies that it was not able to gather sufficient records to analyze the impact on tenants in Chicago.
Chicago officials did not respond to a request for comment.
In Jones’ case, the 911 calls used to terminate her lease started when the family called police to report someone had been shot in the neighborhood. The next day, the family called police to report social media threats they were receiving after being identified as the home that called police to report the shooting.
Days later, someone shot into Jones’ home while her daughters and mother were inside, the lawsuit stated. Two days later, Richton Park police officers emailed Jones’ landlord to notify them the property was in violation of the ordinance, according to the lawsuit.
“You just don’t know how many nights I didn’t sleep, and I tossed and turned, and I was literally trying to figure out a way so that me and my family wouldn’t be homeless,” Jones said. “I was a good citizen, and then within a flip of the eye, ‘Oh, you got to go, you violated an ordinance. We don’t need that type of stuff in our neighborhood.’”
Jones moved out of Richton Park to avoid having an eviction on her record, though she said she knew she hadn’t done anything wrong. She called many places for help until she reached the Chicago Lawyers’ Committee for Civil Rights, which took her case.
“I fought for what I wanted,” Jones said. “I wanted this to not happen to anybody else, the ordinance changed, and aside from that, I can replace what was taken from me and put my kids back into that comfortable level.”
The Village of Richton Park did not respond to requests for comment. It amended its ordinance after the federal lawsuit was filed. Now, calls by a tenant for police or emergency services because of threats do not equate to criminal activity.
Other changes include providing a notice of the ordinance violation by mail, email or personal delivery to the tenant and property owner. The ordinance now allows the tenant or landlord to appeal the village’s determination within 10 days of the notice being issued.
Jones’ case was among those highlighted in a recent report published by the Community Safety Through Stable Homes Coalition about crime-free ordinances in Illinois, which found these types of laws disproportionately affect renters of color in communities undergoing demographic changes.
Emily Coffey, an attorney with the Chicago Lawyers’ Committee for Civil Rights, said the analysis found in some instances, calls to 911 did lead to enforcement of the crime-free law, and in other instances, it was because of an interaction a minor had with the juvenile justice system.
“We saw that many municipalities are using call logs, not distinguishing between people who are calling for help or otherwise in those call logs as a benchmark for when municipalities are enforcing these ordinances,” Coffey said.
Jones said she is proud she was able to make change in the community where she lived, even though it felt like an enormous battle.
Now that the case is settled, she is considering moving from the south suburbs to Indiana for a fresh start. Her oldest daughter, who is 8, still gets scared when she hears loud noises that sound like gunfire. And Jones still visits relatives in Richton Park.
“I’m happy I’m not there because it’s not even the same anymore,” she said. “It’s not the love and the neighborhood that it used to have when I first moved there.”