The family caught in the crosshairs of NYC’s rent control
Hundreds of activists filled the theater in East Harlem’s El Museo del Barrio on June 25, while dozens more rallied outside. Despite the high temperatures and aggressive humidity, the crowds were filled with enthusiasm as they waved their scarlet signs and chanted “up up with tenant power, down down with real estate!”
After nearly two months of deliberation, New York City’s Rent Guidelines Board (RGB) was preparing to cast its final vote on a historic rent freeze affecting roughly one million rent-stabilized apartments and lofts.
Zero-percent lease renewals for the city’s rent-stabilized apartments had been championed by newly elected Mayor Zohran Mamdani throughout his campaign. If approved, the measure would mark the first time the RGB froze rents on both one- and two-year rent-stabilized lease renewals.
The room erupted with cheers and applause when the RGB announced that the measure had passed in a sweeping 7-1 vote.
The energy in East Harlem was palpable as the crowds celebrated the working man’s victory over the city’s oppressive, greedy property owners. But this narrative is more fiction than fact.
According to the RGB’s own research, roughly 70% of those who own rent-stabilized buildings own just one building, and more than 90% own five or fewer. Yet, these property owners who will be most affected by rent-control policies were the ones no one was talking about that evening.
The property owners no one talks about
Lynette Ciner grew up in a bygone era of Manhattan. Back then, everyday people resided in neighborhoods now reserved for the upwardly mobile. And while the city wasn’t crime-free, it was safe enough for children to roam unbridled and unsupervised.
Some of Lynette’s fondest memories of her Gramercy Park childhood are running errands with her older brother. Whether they visited the butcher or the baker, they greeted each shopkeeper on a first-name basis. Everyone knew each other and, as Lynette remembers, “the community looked out for each other.”
New York was her playground. Often, her mother would let her skip school and, together, they would spend the day getting lost in the Metropolitan Museum. Lynette jokes, “They may have called it truancy back then but my parents would rather me experience things than sit in school.”
On Sundays, the family would go to Madison Square Park and have a nice meal, which her grandmother prepared with the fresh basil and tomatoes grown in her own backyard. “It was just the greatest,” Lynette says.
The family was a staple in their community. In the 1930s, her grandparents and Lynette’s infant mother moved into a six-unit building on Third Avenue, where they also operated the storefront on the ground floor. In 1940, they had saved enough money to buy the building.
Both Lynette and her mother had the privilege of growing up there.
The family took great pride in owning the building and operating the ground-floor storefront. “Each decade it was a different store based on what was the hot item of the day,” Lynette’s husband Richard says. In the 1950s, the space was a diner, where Lynette’s mother and father would later meet. When Lynette was born, it was a bookstore, then later became a camera store. In the 1970s, it was a record shop. No matter what kind of business they ran, Lynette’s family always had their pulse on what was happening in the neighborhood.
For the family, the building was more than brick and mortar; it was their legacy that would one day pass down to Lynette.
As the 1970s progressed, New York City was overrun by crime. After Lynette’s father was held at gunpoint and robbed while working in the record store, the family made the difficult decision to relocate to Florida.
The family had hoped to run the Third Avenue building from afar, but in a world without the internet, it just wasn’t feasible. Instead, they entered into a triple net commercial lease, which would allow them to maintain ownership while their tenant took responsibility for the property taxes, property insurance, and maintenance of the building.
Lynette grew up and married Richard. In 2006, she inherited the building on Third Avenue, but the terms of the triple net lease, which spanned multiple decades, had not yet ended.
In 2020, Lynette and Richard took control of the building. The couple had planned on retiring to the city and moving into the building. They even dreamed of turning the retail space into a 24-hour soccer lounge and bar where fans could come and watch a match.
In all, the repairs were going to cost at least $1 million.
Small-time property owners like Lynette and Richard rely on their tenants’ rent to maintain the building and provide for their own livelihoods. But rent-control policies have made it impossible to bear the financial weight of these costs.
The Third Avenue building is rent-stabilized, so Lynette and Richard are forced to lease each unit far below the market value. For all six units combined, Lynette and Richard are legally allowed to collect only $2,584 a month. To put that amount into perspective, New York City’s average rent per unit is $3,750.
Thanks to decades of mismanagement, the couple is collecting only about $850 of rent each month for the entire building. Meanwhile, neighboring buildings are renting units starting at $6,100.
The Ciners don’t have the means to fix up the building, and the money they earn from rent doesn’t even cover the property’s normal operating expenses. “Over the last five years, we’ve been trying to put whatever dollars we could physically put into the building to maintain it and get it back to livable. It’s been a real hardship on us,” Richard laments.
Despite their grim financial reality, they are not eligible for the economic hardship exemption that allows rent-stabilized apartment owners to raise rents. But, because the maximum allowable increase is so small, even if they did qualify, it would hardly make a dent.
While the value of the property has vastly deteriorated due to rent control, the property taxes continue to rise. Richard says the property taxes have tripled in cost since 2020. And on top of it all, the Ciners must also pay high insurance rates for the 100-year-old building.
“They’re devaluing our building because they’re not allowing us to charge market rents for the tenants. We’re under rent stabilization. It’s just become impossible to function in this environment that we’re in.” Richard says.
The Ciners now find themselves between a rock and a hard place. The building is a part of Lynette’s history, and they don’t want to sell. Even if they did, the property is simply unmarketable in its current state. “To sell now in the price and condition and what’s happening to us, it’s not worth it,” Richard says.
It’s not just her family’s building that’s at stake. Property owners throughout the city are facing similar obstacles, thanks to rent-control policies. Worse still, no one seems willing to help.
“There is no one for the landlord to turn to. The landlord has become the enemy. It’s not fair and it’s not right,” Lynette says. “My family and I felt our hands were tied, but now I feel like I’m in a straitjacket and I don’t see how to get out.”
Fighting for her family’s legacy
Only one person at the RGB meeting expressed concern for property owners. Arpit Gupta, an associate finance professor at New York University’s business school, was the lone vote against the rent freeze. He fears that the freeze will make it harder for landlords to pay their bills. “It’s a little bit of a slow burn. The risk is that the buildings do go under more distress. There are a variety of responses. One is … deferred maintenance, which will worsen the physical conditions of buildings,” he says.
“There are other avenues of distress, like going behind on mortgage payments, insurance payments, eventually property taxes, which leaves the property to be transferred in ownership to a bank or to the city, possibly for a tax lien sale,” he continued. He also noted that many of these apartments are now left vacant because owners cannot afford to rehabilitate them. The problem, he warned, will only worsen with the new rent freeze.
While the RGB chair, Chantella Mitchell, did acknowledge in a statement that property owners face issues of soaring property taxes and insurance costs, she insisted that most “remain able to meet rising costs.”
The Ciners are living the consequences Gupta described.
In 2022, the Ciners turned to the courts for help, asserting that the city was violating their property rights. The Constitution prohibits the government from taking a person’s property without giving them just compensation. The rent-stabilization law does just that by taking private property in order to support a public housing project.
The court, unfortunately, dismissed the case on the grounds that the Ciners had not first applied for a hardship exemption. But the Ciners were ineligible for the exemption in the first place and wouldn’t have received it, even if they had applied.
The Ciners were disheartened and didn’t know where they could turn for help. Shortly thereafter, they were contacted by Pacific Legal Foundation attorney Jon Houghton.
The Ciners are now teaming up with PLF and asking the Supreme Court to hear their case. The government cannot use administrative technicalities to bar property owners from the courts. If New York wants rent-controlled units for its residents, it must fairly compensate building owners for the property taken, instead of placing the financial burden of a public housing project on private individuals.
With PLF by their side to help them continue their fight, the Ciners feel reinvigorated. Lynette remarked that this opportunity feels like “a gift from God.” Richard agreed, saying, “I believe our only chance is Pacific Legal Foundation.”
“My parents owned this property and lost all of its value because of what the city does with rent stabilization and rent control and taxes,” Lynette says. “Knowing my grandfather, he’d be very proud of this lawsuit.” Richard was quick to add, “They would be more than proud that she’s fighting this.”
