Gentrification Destroyed My Family’s Hometown
Why Privilege Will Always Overtake Generational Heritage
I think I should preface this by saying that my family have lived in the same tiny town since at least the late 1800’s. I am the first generation to not hail from Morehead City, North Carolina. There are actually streets named after my family there.
Gentrification is something that I’ve read about since I was little. I’ve seen documentaries and I’ve heard stories from older people.
I know I am privileged in the fact that I have never personally experienced the process. Reading about it and seeing it are different things. And seeing it, versus knowing someone or caring about someone that is experiencing it firsthand-are completely different things.
Not everyone lives the same way we do. (I am, of course, using the proverbial ‘we’ here). I constantly have to remind myself that not everyone lives the same way I do.
I recently went to visit my grandmother. She was born in the 1930’s and lives in a rural community on the coast.
She has lived in the same small town her entire life. Her home was built by my grandfather decades ago. Her mother and her mother’s mother’s homes are down the street. Our family has lived there for generations.
The area they live in used to be considered the ‘Black’ part of town (i.e. the run-down part of town, especially before and during segregation). As I rode through the streets, my grandmother pointed out where her friends, acquaintances and family used to live.
Many of their homes are now abandoned or in desperate need of repair. The majority of the people that lived there have either passed or moved away. The older generation is gone.
Most of the mom-and-pop shops have too much competition from corporate entities to sustain themselves. Diners are being replaced by chains, home-run stores by Walmart. Despite all this, the area is not empty, far from it.
Perhaps the most surprising part of the neighborhood is how much it has changed. The once modest neighborhood is now interspersed with million-dollar ocean front houses. My grandmother’s land has multiplied several times over in value. The streets are lined with luxury boats and BMWs, while my grandmother’s neighbors struggle to pay their mortgage.
Yet, despite all this (unwanted) growth, the problems of the community for its oldest tenants remain. As poorer communities crumble, often communities of color, white wealthy tourists buy vacation homes on top of families that have been there for generations.
Honestly, seeing the physical evidence of gentrification in front of me could be summed up in one word: sad. It feels like erased history. It is a concrete example of racial divides and ‘the haves and the have nots’.
It is a battle between the forgotten and silenced, and the systematically fortunate. And the latter is clearly winning. It is a story that has happened time and time again in cities across the country. And doesn’t look like it’s showing any times of stopping. Unfortunately, history can’t be undone. For now, I just have to be fortunate for what I have.
In some ways I feel blessed that I was at least able to witness what parts of the original neighborhood are left. I was able to hear the history of the area from someone that lived it. I can only hope that that history is maintained in some way, in the years to come.
