There are thousands of U.S.A. towns and cities where neighborhoods, as well as single family house deeds and restrictive covenants that have words that Black people cannot buy a house specifically there. Sometimes Jews are included in the restrictive words. In some cases, Chinese, or white people from some countries such as in Scandanavia, have been in the restictive covenants and deeds. The groups of people that have been excluded are so numerous that I feel it is safe to say that the groups excluded are any that are not what the group setting the standard thinks their own description is. The land the Huntington, Indiana's courthouse was built on was given with the restriction that no Black people would ever live in Huntington. I was born in Huntington as were my parents and their parents.
There have been families who have bought houses and then the neighbors have burned the house down to get the Black families to not live in the house they bought. Also, other ways to get them to not live on all white streets, neighborhoods, towns, is the Black family is "offered" an offer to sell their house. The offer is not an offer that is free to take or not. It is not to be refused. I only know because I have read well-sourced books that include this knowledge. I have read most about the state of Indiana because I am most connected to Indiana. But it has been rampant in other states as well. Indiana had it in the state constitution, that Black people were not to move in to the state. And when the state did allow some Black people they had to sign that they would not be a burden in any way on the state of Indiana. And often only one Black person would be allowed, such as Huntington who had one Black man live in an abandoned room, that otherwise had no use, up over a store. He was called Rags by the town and washed windows in town at businesses. Often names such as Rags were used in place of real names. Easier to see them as less human and in the whites' minds, see them as a novelty or mascot type subject.
The Schachts who owned the Schachts Rubber Factory in Huntington had two live-in Black house workers, a couple, one man, one woman. They had no children, so no schools had to concern themselves of Black children mixing with their white children. But they could not walk outside the property of the Schachts home, the richest family in Huntington.
The state that most enforced that same law as Indiana in their constitution is Oregon. Specifically this was true in states that were on the Union side of the Civil War. I lived in Huntington through 3rd grade then moved to another town, Columbia City. Both towns were Sundown towns. Huntington is written about in the book Sundown Towns - A Hidden Dimension of American Racism by James W. Loewen and Kathleen M. Blee's book Women of the Klan - Racism and Gender in the 1920s, as is Whitley County, where Columbia City is the county seat. It would be more rare than common of Indiana towns to let Black people live wherever they wanted. The reason bigger cities, such as Indianapolis, Fort Wayne...have a section of Black people is because when white people forced out Black families from small towns, villages, the country, they went where they were hemmed in. Often white communuties had an adjacent town that allowed Black people. The reason for this is that Black people went to work in the white towns during the day, but must be out by sundown. That is why there is high concentrations of black people in specific locations. Black families want their children to go to the best schools too. Don’t fool yourself that Black people live where they live because they want to live with their own kind. White supremacy is still with us today. If you don’t think that is true, you most likely are white and have lived in a white privilege mindset for so long you aren’t open to learning the truth of racism and the standard ingrained racism in everyday living. It is there.
I'm Black But Look White. Here Are The Horrible Things White People Feel Safe Telling Me by Miriam Zinter: My parents originally tried to purchase a home in Syracuse in the 1960s. Most of the houses they made offers on had deed restrictions that stated the home could not be “sold to Negros.” Determined to own their own home, they decided to build a house, and found some land in a subdivision in Liverpool, New York, where the builder was happy to sell to them. Despite this good news, they soon learned they couldn’t get approved for a mortgage. My dad had a good job at General Electric and my parents had savings, but none of this was enough, because they were Black.
My dad accepted a transfer to a position in Alaska, because he could earn double what he’d make in Syracuse. My mom and I moved in with my grandmother for a year and my mom banked all of my dad’s checks. When he returned, my parents paid cash to have their house built in Liverpool. This was the same house on which people painted “Go Home Nigger.” They did this when we already were home ― there was no other “home” to go to. We lived in a white neighborhood, and I went to a school where all the other students were white. Before I started kindergarten, my parents had “the talk” with me. If you don’t know about “the talk,” let me explain it to you. “The talk” is about race. It’s about being Black in a world run by white people, where white people make the rules. In order to survive, let alone thrive, you need to know you are Black and know what that means, even if you present as white. In our home,
Dr. King was whom we strived to be. Even at 4 years old, I knew who he was. I was taught King’s principals of nonviolence. My parents marched on Washington with King and hoped for a better world for me. I set off for school the next day, prepared to walk through a gauntlet of screaming hatred. I was on the lookout. But there didn’t seem to be anything happening. If any protesters had been there, they probably wouldn’t even have known I was Black. With my blond braids and my sparkling new outfit from Sears, I might have walked right by them. I was ready to learn ― and learn I did. But just because there weren’t protesters doesn’t mean there weren’t challenges.
My kindergarten teacher did not feel it was appropriate for a Black child to learn and play with white children. She left me inside the classroom on my own while the other students played. I stood by the window and cried. My parents complained to the principal ― a child of Italian immigrants ― and he stepped in. I was then permitted to play with my classmates. Worried that my teacher would not engage me in the same ways she did with the other students, my parents worked with me on my alphabet, math and reading every night after dinner. I excelled.
When we moved from Syracuse to Rochester, New York, our new neighborhood was also largely white. I didn’t even find this strange. I fit in and made very good friends, some of whom I am friends with to this day. But I always knew I was Black, and forgetting who I was simply wasn’t an option. In middle school, my history teacher told the class that if we really wanted to insult Black people, we should call them “Uncle Toms.”
In high school, one student came dressed as a klansman for Halloween, carrying a noose. Another student, wearing blackface and a loincloth, ran around in front of him. When the few Black students and a number of our white classmates complained to the principal about it, we were told we needed to “develop a sense of humor.” Another student, who would later become a teacher, called me a “white nigger.” I found myself constantly defending affirmative action, busing and desegregation with friends and classmates whose parents thought that if Black people “infested” their white world, chaos would ensue.
Many years have passed since then, but sadly, this madness hasn’t stopped. My neighbor, the one who asked me why “Black lives matter,” is not the only one who has felt comfortable asking me such a question or making a statement rife with racism. White people think I am white too, and therefore feel safe saying all kinds of horrible things they might not say publicly. I’ve had people tell me it “disgusts” them to see interracial couples. They’ve told me they don’t understand why Black neighborhoods look so “ghetto,” and that Black people are “animals” or “thugs.”
Many of these people are educated, and hold jobs or positions that give them some form of power or influence over Black people. They are doctors, judges, lawyers, social workers and politicians. That’s frightening. In every instance where I’ve encountered racist rhetoric, I have made it my business to speak up. I have told (or reminded) these people that I am Black. I have told them my family’s story. And I have done whatever I could to educate them about the systems of racism that exist in this country.
Sometimes they say: “But you’re different!” Then I ask them if other Black folks they know are also “different.” When they say yes, I ask them: “How are all the Black people you know ‘different’? When are you going to realize that we are not different? That you have been misled into believing that Black people are somehow bad, and that what you see with your own eyes ― these Black people you know, and know are not different or bad ― are good people like you?” And that floors them. There is a purposeful and strategic force dedicated to segregation and racism. There are people who benefit from Black people and white people remaining in conflict. When people of different races live together and truly want to know and understand each other, it is harmonious. But when races are separated, it breeds suspicion and distrust. It becomes “us versus them,” and it weakens us as a nation. Living as a Black woman who looks white has allowed me to experience white privilege firsthand. Because people assume I am white, it is assumed I am honest, smart and trustworthy.
Many times I have thought to myself: If I looked Black, how would these people treat me? And I have known, without a shadow of a doubt, that I would be treated with disdain or suspicion, or as a criminal. I know in many instances that if I looked Black, the police would have been called to question me. And this sickens and angers me. How many of our Black brothers and sisters have had the police called on them simply for the act of living their lives? As a nation, we need to stop this. The best way to achieve change is to accept and learn about our racist past and the injustices visited upon our Black citizens. It’s deeply concerning that people are protesting the possibility of our country’s history being accurately taught in schools. The only way for America to be great is to accept all of our citizens at face value, and the only way to do that is to understand our intertwined roots ― our history and all the pain and tragedy that exists within it ― and face this, together, head-on. Miriam Zinter's entire article is from Huffington Post. The link is provided above.
