Marginalized people hear the phrase “that violates your rights!” all the time, as though the information alone should solve our problems. But truthfully, there’s a big difference between knowing you have rights and being able to enforce them. When the Lankfords, who own and operate the Copycat Building, filed evictions against dozens of tenants in the summer of 2020, we already knew they were renting a building to us illegally. The vast majority of tenants filed against were artists and almost all were low income, queer, and/or disabled, and we were used to being treated as second-class citizens. It took a specific combination of access and collaboration, in addition to knowledge of our rights, to organize a yearslong rent strike that led to statewide changes in landlord-tenant law and hold off our evictions for almost four years.
The Copycat Building was originally purchased by Charles Lankford in the ’80s to house his printing business, but he soon began renting space in the building to artists as studios. Recognizing the profit potential when he discovered artists were living in their studios, he began openly advertising the Copycat as a residential space. However, the building was never brought up to housing code or properly licensed in this transition, and was thus operating with severely inadequate fire safety, unabated lead and asbestos, faulty and dangerous wiring, and elevators that were often dangerously inoperational, among other issues. Artists living in the building at that time said that Lankford took advantage of the city’s interest in creating an arts district in Greenmount West to negotiate deals with the city so he could continue renting illegally and avoid shutdown or code enforcement fines. There were promises of making repairs and getting the building up to code, but there was little followthrough on these deals, and the building remains unlicensed and in extreme disrepair. Lankford’s adult children, Brice and Jessica, began assisting with operations in the late 2010s, and Brice is now acting manager at the building.
When we began the tenants union in 2020 it was in an environment where the Lankfords’ relationship with tenants was actively combative because management had stopped maintenance to many units, often tenants would find fees or balances on their ledgers they didn’t owe, and management was intimidating tenants with threats of court cases and severe damage to their credit. Tenants believed management was already making plans to push out some older tenants so they could raise rents and increase rental revenue in the building. When the pandemic happened, the Lankfords took advantage of many tenants’ sudden inability to pay rent to threaten tenants with eviction. At the time, it was illegal for an unlicensed landlord to use failure-to-pay-rent court to evict tenants, but a loophole kept that restriction from applying to tenant holding over, and the Lankfords filed against dozens of tenants in tenant holding over instead.
Queer and trans people made up the vast majority of the tenants who started the Copycat’s tenants union.
Queer and trans people made up the vast majority of the tenants who started the Copycat’s tenants union. Of the large communal apartments in the Copycat Lankford targeted in the wave of evictions after we organized, every one was run by queer tenant collectives. Queer folks in Baltimore know we have to collaborate and adapt to survive, and we feel that was what determined our success.
Our first time in court in 2020 was a scene — queer artists with tattoos, face piercings, and colorful hair were called in front of the judge one after another after another, while Jessica Lankford, acting as an agent, tried to explain why we should be evicted when our landlord had no lease and no license. One Copycat tenant explained they’d be using the nonbinary honorific “Mx.” before testifying and it was respected by the court (likely a first in eviction court!). We went into court together and asserted our identities and our rights together, and it served us well. Bringing our cases collectively before a judge painted a much clearer picture of how the Copycat was run than any single case alone could have, and as a result, we won every single one of that first round of cases in district court.
When we started the tenants union, we said, “Whatever we do, we can’t let the Lankfords keep doing this. It stops with us.” That wish was transmuted into concrete goals: Make sure everyone facing eviction got into new, safe housing, and stop the Lankfords’ illegal and dangerous business model from being able to operate. What we didn’t know at that point was how to do that.
Enter nonprofit legal groups like Maryland Legal Aid (MDLA) and Public Justice Center, who are, in part, funded as part of Right-To-Counsel law in Baltimore, to represent low income people facing evictions. We reached out to MDLA, and they agreed to represent us and do “know your rights” training for all interested Copycat tenants. MDLA’s collaboration with us, and later PJC’s, were essential to help us stay in our homes long enough to do something meaningful about the conditions in the building and the ongoing exploitation of tenants there. Beyond that, they helped us understand the law enough to be creative in how we used it — a privilege usually reserved only for landlords due to the costs associated with hiring lawyers.
The tenants union started brainstorming how to disrupt the Lankfords’ operations. Slumlords regularly rent out dangerous buildings with little pushback from DHCD or other authorities, and the courts tend to rule heavily in landlords’ favor. It’s rare to see a landlord prevented from collecting rent even in the most egregious conditions. We soon realized the best way to push back against a business model built on our exploitation was to disrupt the flow of profits.
After that, the idea for a rent strike was the natural conclusion — many of us couldn’t pay rent because of the COVID-19 pandemic, and MDLA had taught us how our landlord’s lack of rental license meant he was operating illegally, so we had a chance to fight our evictions in tenant holding over court. There was already a law saying a landlord couldn’t use failure to pay rent court to evict if they were unlicensed, so it seemed reasonable we could challenge their ability in THO and at the very least buy some time. While we fought court battles to stay in our homes as long as possible, we also started going to city officials and state legislators with the question: “Why was Charles Lankford allowed to evict people without a license?”
We collaborated with PJC, MDLA, and tenants rights groups like Baltimore Renters United and Renters United Maryland to get a bill in front of legislators. We went to Annapolis and testified, negotiated with lawmakers, and arranged phone zaps to push the bill forward. We hung a banner from the windows of Copycat’s fifth floor that said “Copycat Makes, Lankford Takes” and made rainbow holographic signs for a protest during Pride 2022 that said “Happy Pride, You’re Evicted!” to raise awareness about the evictions and get backup from other tenants around the city.
Our bill, 2023’s Rental Licensing Accountability Act, went into effect in October 2023, closing the loophole that had allowed unlicensed landlords to evict using tenant holding over court.
After a two-year battle, we finally won. Our bill, 2023’s Rental Licensing Accountability Act, went into effect in October 2023, closing the loophole that had allowed unlicensed landlords to evict using tenant holding over court. So our wish came true: Though we eventually had to hand my keys over to Brice Lankford in January 2024, we will be the last tenants they could legally threaten with evictions until they make the Copycat Building safe enough to get it licensed.
It’s easy to see our eviction as a loss, but look at everything we did: Between 2020 and 2024, a small group of extremely marginalized people with virtually no money completely deconstructed the primary business model of a millionaire landlord whose operation depended on easy exploitation of queer artists. We changed the law so tenants of slumlords throughout Maryland gained a powerful tool to assert their rights, avoid eviction, and even rent strike if they choose. Maybe most importantly, the money we withheld from our landlord gave us the financial breathing room to care for ourselves in a pandemic and move to safer housing.
The Copycat Tenants Union got so far because we understood that the power imbalance between landlords and tenants can only be equalized via collaboration and by using every tool at your disposal. Having representation and knowing our rights was the first step, but ultimately it was community organizing and using our resourcefulness, creativity, and resilience that got us our wins. Any community — including yours — with the will to fight could mobilize and win just like we did.
You can take action too! If you want to get involved in organizing, join BRU’s Rent Court Watch program, or learn about your rights, email BRU at info@bmorerentersunited.org or call 443-863-9607.
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