Abdur Rahman Farrakhan

Somehow, over 20 years ago, Abdur Rahman Farrakhan convinced the world he was a tenant advocate. That's why city housing officials and state courts helped him become the owner or manager, through several nonprofit organizations he heads, of 66 properties in Brooklyn. Since taking charge of the Ocean Hill Brownsville Tenants Association (OHBTA) in the 1980s, he has helped it grow from a small-time administrator of a handful of properties to its current prominence—managing more wretched buildings than almost anyone else in the borough.

"Under Mr. Farrakhan we had no protection, no services, he doesn't provide us with heat and hot water, and he was getting thousands and thousands of dollars in Section 8 money," says Paulette Forbes, a tenant in Farrakhan's 385-unit Noble Drew Ali Plaza. Tenants there have long been locked in a court battle with him, and a study by the Department of Investigation last October of less than half of his other small buildings revealed 1,300 housing violations

Until he resigned earlier this month, Farrakhan was the president of the Noble Drew Ali Housing Corporation (NDA), which owns the five-building complex in Brownsville. Court documents show that NDA owes over $10 million in unpaid taxes, and DOI found that it also ran up $911,287 in overdue water bills.

Farrakhan's nonprofit paid the city a mere $10 for the plaza in 1996. For the next five years, the buildings leaked and crumbled, and tenants frequently lived without lights, heat, or running water. NDA was paying over a third of its budget to a security firm Farrakhan owned, but tenants were still terrorized by frequent shootings and open drug sales. Forbes, who grew up in the Plaza, says, "When he came in, we didn't have a drug problem. When he came in, all the problems came in."

In 2001, conditions were so awful the New York City Housing Authority cut Section 8 funding for Noble Drew. Nevertheless, the next year, NDA secured government approval to sell the complex to a company Farrakhan helped start. Soon after the sale's approval, mass evictions forced out over 100 residents as part of an effort to make room for families housed under the Department of Homeless Services' controversial scattered-site programs. While a Section 8 tenant pays roughly $1,000 a month (about $30 a day), DHS was paying $127.24 per day for each family.

The tenants, however, did not sit quietly as their homes were taken from them. They brought a lawsuit against Farrakhan that succeeded in reversing the sale's approval, staying evictions, and preventing NDA from renting to anyone not offered a lease. A court ruling last month did allow the city or its agents to go after tenants who'd withheld rent in the protracted war with Farrakhan, but by then, NDA had filed for bankruptcy. The plaza is once again up for sale.

After years of struggle, the tenants, with the help of housing attorney Mimi Rosenberg, finally succeeded in forcing government agencies to address their problems, but tenant grievances in other Farrakhan buildings have only recently come to light. DOI identified conditions that put tenants' lives in danger, including more than 50 obstructed or rusted fire escapes, an emergency stairwell that was missing a step, and a padlocked escape ladder. At 1350 Park Place, the door to the roof had been removed. Inspectors noted this was a "possible entrance for burglars." DOI also reported that Farrakhan entities owe $6.3 million in property taxes and $1.25 million in water bills, on top of all the Noble Drew delinquencies.

Government reports, though, don't convey the visceral experience of Farrakhan's slums. For example, 1920 Union Street is owned by Farrakhan's William L. Chisolm HDFC and managed by the OHBTA, both of which share the same mailing address. On a recent visit by the Voice, entering the building was easy—the front door was unlocked. Inside, the overwhelming stench of urine and trash dominated the lobby. The trash compactor was destroyed in a fire three years ago and was never repaired, despite city orders to do so. Instead, hordes of rats, mice, and roaches patrol the building, breeding in the garbage cans left in the halls.

The six-story building's elevator has been malfunctioning since 2001, causing myriad problems for the tenants with physical disabilities. Mona Lisa Little, who has osteoporosis, had to pay someone to carry her mother, who used a wheelchair, up five flights to her apartment. Little says other tenants also have physical disabilities and have struggled with the persistent elevator problems.

Little doesn't suffer quietly, however. She got Larry Jayson of Brooklyn Housing and Family Services to visit and compile a housing-complaint checklist. Jayson says the building was in "horrible shape" with defective electrical outlets and switches, a rotted bathroom floor, holes in the walls, and leaking windows. During repairs to some windows, Little and fellow tenants Zoelayma Dillard and Cheryl Squires saw there was no insulation between the building's outer bricks and inner Sheetrock. "It's ice-cold in here," says Squires, with one of her young children chiming in, "Yep." Without heat and hot water through much of the winter, the family resorted to boiling water and placing the steaming containers around the apartment to provide a little warmth.