From protests to power: Chi Ossé, the youngest council member in New York history

Chi Ossé likes to say that before the pandemic and his foray into politics, he worked at night. It was 2020, he was 22 years old and wanted to have a good time. He lived with his mother in Brooklyn and organized parties in New York to make a living. But the Covid-19 pandemic put an end to the music, cost Ossé his job and confined him to his home.

And then, as the entire country spent its days glued to screens, Derek Chauvin, a white police officer from Minneapolis, suffocated George Floyd, a Black man, in front of a cellphone camera. The footage spread globally, igniting a nationwide uproar. “Obviously as a Black person in this country it wasn’t the first time I’ve ever seen something like it, but I think because it was lockdown, it was hard to turn away. I decided to take to the streets. I felt like I had nothing to lose,” recalls Ossé — who has a fade haircut, pierced ears, and clean-shaven face — four years later on a sunny October morning in Brooklyn.

It was May 29. Thousands of people, like Ossé, took to the streets. The demonstrations were massive, the police response disproportionate. “I decided to show what was happening on the ground. What was being portrayed on CNN and even Fox News was a different story than what I was seeing. It was a nonviolent protest against police brutality, and the police reacted with brutality. I saw people getting arrested left and right, cars lit a flame, I got hit with pepper spray.”

Ossé recorded the protests and shared his videos on Instagram. Though his social media presence was modest at the time, people began to increasingly follow him as they searched for information. After two weeks of unrest, feeling disillusioned with the response from elected officials, Ossé decided to take action by running for office in his district as a Democrat. In 2021, against the odds, he won the election. He was 23 years old and had become the youngest councilman in New York’s history.

In New York, each councilman represents a district of the city. Ossé was elected by Bedford-Stuyvesant and Crown Heights, his home neighborhood. Nobody expected him to win: he was too young, not known to voters and did not have the necessary political support. He could hardly believe it himself.

A chant from those days evolved into a nationwide slogan: “Defund the police.” Ossé recalls: “New York City has a budget of over $110 billion and $11 billion of that goes to our police force [the official budget is $5.8 billion, but is $11 billion when other expenses, such as pensions, are included]. We were pushing for those funds to be reallocated into education, healthcare, parks, infrastructure and mental health. When I saw that the council member in my district didn’t do what we were asking him to do, I decided to run for office myself.”

“A terrible housing crisis”

Ossé is on Atlantic Avenue, the street that marks the border between Crown Heights and Bed-Stuy, two iconic neighborhoods within Brooklyn’s African-American community. Here, the train roars by on elevated steel tracks above the road, with cars navigating the busy street below. The sidewalks are narrow, lined with abandoned warehouses, industrial buildings, and vacant lots. Ossé intends to revitalize the area. On one of these desolate plots, currently used as a parking lot, he will build houses. “New York is going through a terrible housing crisis,” he explains. The city’s vacancy rate for residences stands at 1.4%, the lowest level since 1968, the lowest number since 1968, according to official data.

Championing the right to affordable and decent housing has become the new focus for Chi Ossé, now 26, as he navigates institutional politics. New York is one of the most expensive cities in the world and finding a home is a near-impossible mission. Ossé's big proposal, which he hopes will become his first major political achievement, is a law to reform the broker fee — a commission that tenants in the city must pay to a real estate agent when moving into a new residence. This fee, typically between 10% and 15% of the annual rent, is often required even when the apartment is secured without an intermediary’s help. In a city where the average monthly rent for a one-bedroom apartment is $3,900, the broker fee is a significant financial burden.

After months of negotiation, the City Council passed the bill on Wednesday with a 42-8 vote. The law mandates that the person who hires the real estate agent —usually the property owner — must bear the commission. It now needs to be signed by New York Mayor Eric Adams. Although Adams and Ossé belong to the same party, they are political adversaries. Ossé has publicly criticized the leadership of Adams, a former police officer indicted in September on corruption charges. If Adams vetoes the bill, it will return to the Council, which can override the veto with a two-thirds majority. If the mayor takes no action, the bill will automatically become law after 30 days. Given the formidable influence of the real estate lobby in the United States, this reform is the most viable step for now; abolishing the broker fee entirely remains politically out of reach.

Brooklyn and social media

Ossé has one of those legendary family histories that people in Brooklyn love. His grandfather, Teddy Vann, was a respected music producer who grew up in the neighborhood, won a Grammy and worked with Luther Vandross, Sam Cooke and Bob Dylan. His father, Reginald Ossé, who died in 2017, was an iconic face of the hip-hop scene. Known as Combar Jack, he was celebrated as both a communicator and an attorney for artists. His mother, Akim Vann, owns a bakery in Prospect Heights. A family with a deep legacy. “We’re fourth-generation Brooklynites,” he says proudly.

The tour continues through Bed-Stuy, a neighborhood known for its classic brownstones with stoops where locals sit to watch the world go by. Traditionally African-American, Bed-Stuy was immortalized as the setting of Spike Lee’s Do the Right Thing (1989), where Radio Raheem blared Fight the Power by Public Enemy. Today, however, it faces rapid gentrification, making life increasingly challenging for long-time residents. There has been an influx of white residents escaping Manhattan’s sky-high prices and the trendier areas of Brooklyn.

Ossé speaks directly to his working-class neighbors through an innovative social media strategy that departs from typical political playbooks. His Instagram looks more like the account of an influencer more than a city councilman, featuring short, energetic videos that highlight news and issues relevant to his constituents.

One example stands out: every year, there is a public meeting to decide how much rent will increase in New York, which residents can attend. Traditionally, only 10 to 20 people attend, and “half of those people are property owners saying that we should increase the rent,” says Ossé.

“Last year, the guidelines board was proposing to increase rent by between 8% and 16% for one- or two-year leases, which would have been devastating for many New Yorkers. We got more than 1,000 people to come to the hearing through a video that went viral on social media, letting them know that they should use their voice. At the end of that vote, the rent increase for one- to two-year leases was between 1% and 2% instead of between 8% and 16%.”

Ossé says that half of the job of a public representative is to pass laws and measures that improve the lives of their neighbors. The other half is to inform. “That’s where I think the government is lacking. You can get 100 bills passed, but if people don’t know how to reach those resources or even know about those bills, what good is that work. Social media has been able to get my vision and my work out, and also provide people with the help that they need. Many people don’t even know what a city council member is. That presence on social media has allowed them to reach out to our office, to know who we are, to learn about the different programs that we provide. It’s a tool for getting the word out.” Citizens have already been calling their elected representatives throughout the city, demanding that they vote in favor of the law that redistributes the broker fee.

In his three years in government, Ossé has learned that politics can be cruel and that institutions do not always seek the common good. “I voted against two budgets that increased police funding. And because of that, I got less money for my district. I was the chair of the city’s Cultural Affairs Committee, and they took that position from me as well. It was a rude awakening. The political implications and ramifications do take place when you stand by what you believe in.”

Despite these challenges, Ossé successfully got legislation passed to make overdose-reversing drugs available in bars and nightclubs — the legacy of his years immersed in nightlife culture. He also tackled the city’s persistent rat problem, which is a serious public health issue in the city.

As a politician forged by the Black Lives Matter protests and rooted in the progressive street movement, navigating institutional politics has sometimes meant facing contradictions. There’s an old adage that when the left gains power, it compromises its principles and becomes soft.

“I was elected at 23, and now I am 26. I’ve matured a little in terms of how I navigate the system of government, but I think politics is a game of chess and my goal as a leftist is to improve issues from public safety to housing. I want to secure wins for my constituents and the working class people. I think I have become more strategic in terms of how to secure those wins and actually help people. My strategy has changed, but I don’t think I have softened in any way.”

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