Putting to Rest the Idea that Black People "Preferred Segregation" [Updated]
Words matter. So let our language evolve to reflect "self-reliance" and "independence" as the bedrock principles upon which my ancestors founded and built Black towns and settlements
[I published this essay back in 2022, but have updated it to reflect the administration’s recent rescission of prohibitions against segregated workplaces and facilities by federal contractors]
I was raised to believe that words matter matter. That “giving our word” means being honest and “keeping our word” means being a person of integrity. That our word is our bond.
As an attorney and author, I also think about concepts and craft down to the word. As I’ve mentioned before, Moonrise Over New Jessup was written about a fictional Black town representing real Black history. Between the late 18th and early 20th centuries, approximately 1200 Black towns, settlements, bottoms, quarters, neighborhoods, Freedmen’s Towns were founded on American soil upon the ideals of self-reliance and independence. Let me say that again for the cheap seats:
Black towns, settlements, bottoms, quarters, neighborhoods, Freedmen’s towns, were places where we aimed to live self-reliant and independent lives.
We pulled one another up the rough side of the mountain and created communities large and small—north and south of the Mason Dixon, and east and west of the Mississippi. Some places were a single block where one or two families owned all the real estate. Zora Neale Hurston’s Eatonville, Florida, was, according to her own words in Dust Tracks on the Road:
[A] Negro town. I do not mean by that the black back-side of an average town. Eatonville, Florida, is, and was at the time of my birth, a pure Negro town—charter, mayor, council, town marshal, and all. It was not the first Negro community in America, but it was the first to be incorporated, the first attempt at organized self-government on the part of Negroes in America.”
Eatonville was one of many places. Some grew even bigger, blossoming into communities numbering in the tens of thousands. True, many have been lost, but some continue to fight toward thriving today. And these communities were founded with the goal of providing Black people a space where we could live independent and self-reliant lives.
But for the last few years, people have described Moonrise Over New Jessup as a book where a Black town “self-segregated” or “chose segregation.” Some have argued that Black people “preferred segregation,” or that the existence of Black towns and settlements suggests that “segregation was best for Black people.” I was raised in a house, and now engage in professions, where words carry significant weight, so it causes deep discomfort to hear these sentiments about a system of laws that required Black subjugation.
My goal in highlighting Black towns and settlements in my work is to put respect on my what ancestors and elders built for us. But I will not misrepresent my people and our history. When we talk about New Jessup and the 1200 Black towns and settlements it represents, let's fix our mouths to say that the folks living in these places wanted independence. They chose self-reliance as a means for achieving Black social progress in this country. Because it’s is a distinction with a world of difference. We wanted community with each other, where we could see a doctor and be a doctor; we could see a teacher and be a teacher. We never chose, or preferred, a system of laws designed for our persistent degradation. We never asked to be humiliated or traumatized.
We chose self-reliance and safe spaces. Full stop.
Black towns and settlements came from somewhere. Elders and descendants of town founders are still alive. When asked about growing up and living in these spaces, you will hear folks talk about independence, self-reliance. You will hear folks say, “We had our own,” and “We knew we could see it and be it.” You will hear Black folks talk about how we did for each other. You will hear about larger-than-life educators, doctors, business owners, farmers who lived in proximity to one another. You will hear about the kid who worked at the local grocery who now owns the local grocery, or how maybe the shoeshine man helped us find our way. You will hear folks tell stories about being in rich and complex community with skinfolk all around us.
What you won’t hear is that people “preferred segregation.” Segregation was a system of laws codifying white supremacy and legalizing the economic, public accomodation, educational, environmental, physical, judicial, and medical oppression of Black people. It robbed Black people of choices over nearly every sphere of our lives.
In a land where the second amendment reigns supreme, it was illegal for us in some places to own dogs, let alone firearms. These were laws that said we couldn’t sit here, eat there, walk here, live there, pray here, learn there, swim here, or walk into front doors. White people drew sneaky little red lines on maps north and south with abandon, and there are restrictive covenants forbidding Black home ownership that still follow plots of real estate to this day. In some places, we couldn’t bear witness in a courtroom, serve on a jury, or dream of obtaining a license to practice law. There were laws that relegated us to the back of buses and the peanut galleries in theaters; laws that criminalized unemployment and otherwise assured long-term and brutal incarceration for the pettiest of offenses. These laws conversely protected white people from discriminating against us in unemployment. The same laws criminalizing murder and other heinous capital offenses shielded white people who perpetuated those crimes against us in unspeakably horrific ways.
Segregation codified white supremacy. Black people never chose any of that.
Recently, pursuant to the DEI Executive Order signed in January, the General Services Administration issued new guidance for contractors seeking billions of taxpayer dollars of contracts with the federal government. GSA rescinded Clause 52.222-21 of the Federal Acquisition Regulation, which is titled, "Prohibition of Segregated Facilities.” Until just a few days ago, Clause 52.222-21 read:
"The Contractor agrees that it does not and will not maintain or provide for its employees any segregated facilities at any of its establishments, and that it does not and will not permit its employees to perform their services at any location under its control where segregated facilities are maintained."
This rescission means, in effect, that the federal government would permit contractors to maintain segregated facilities themselves (i.e., lunch rooms, restrooms, water fountains), and allow their federal contractors to conduct business in places that are segregated—if it could. Employers are still required to adhere to state and federal civil rights laws. But removal of Clause 52.222-21 is yet another telling indicator of this administration’s intent to destroy civil rights protections in this country. Under this guidance, choice is denied to the employees. Independence is denied to employees.
There is nothing about redeeming about “segregation” as a word or a practice. It is not a sweet thing; it is an abomination. It is time to do away with this misnomer that Black people “chose” this institution of oppression, or that this system of racist laws was “good for us.”
My goal in highlighting Black towns and settlements in my work is to put respect on what my ancestors and elders built for us. But I will not misrepresent my people and our history. When we talk about Moonrise Over New Jessup and the 1200 Black towns and settlements it represents, let's fix our mouths to say that the folks living in these places wanted independence. They chose self-reliance as a means for achieving Black social progress in this country. Because it’s is a distinction with a world of difference. We wanted community with each other, where we could see a doctor and be a doctor; we could see a teacher and be a teacher. We never chose, or preferred, a system of laws designed for our persistent degradation. We never asked to be humiliated or traumatized.
We chose self-reliance and safe spaces. Full stop.
When we know better we do better. So let’s call "segregation” what it is, and “self-reliance” what it is. My hope is that Moonrise Over New Jessup serves as a catalyst for conversations where we interrogate our ideas. Including the ways we use language. The way words help. And the way they harm.