“Don’t go downtown alone at night.”
What do you know about Durham? Perhaps you spend time on Ninth Street and frequent Cosmic late at night. Happy + Hale is now your second home, and you’ve even ventured to Dame’s for chicken and waffles. It is your adopted city, it is comfortable to you, but perhaps you rarely make it far from campus. Perhaps you have been told to stay in bounds, been warned of the perceived dangers of this historic city.
Durham defies essentialism. Inexplicably, it is home to wild extremes, a thriving ecosystem sustaining both film festivals and gang-enrollment. Committed to authenticity, Durham’s historic buildings have been converted into bars and niche shops. It is remarkable and one of a kind, this city and the way it has changed. Old James B. Duke tobacco warehouses now house tapas restaurants, film centers and tech startups. Baseball, theater and food are supreme.
And yet, spending time in this sparkling, newly developed city is somewhat tempered by knowledge of the history of Durham. It is altered by the fact that what is now “quintessentially Durham” to half of the city is completely foreign to the other, for Durham is a city of extremes; it is so utterly diverse and comprised of such different experiences that it sometimes feels like a dichotomy. But it is all the more beautiful for both stories of the city, which could be even stronger if woven together.
Duke plays a unique role in the fabric of the city. City planners and Duke administrators spent years courting businesses and investors, planning the revitalization and renaissance of the American Tobacco Campus and Brightleaf Square. Though the grandeur was in the works for a long time, little was done to provide a safety net for Durham’s longtime residents. With every wonderful ice cream shop, rent prices rise, pushing Durham’s poorest and most vulnerable out. Duke students seem to partake in the pleasantries of Durham with glee. At a school with so much knowledge and compassion for the world, there is some irony in the relative apathy that many Duke students feel for Durham. Though many clubs do amazing work in the public schools and recreation centers, the majority of Duke students that I’ve met have little interest in the history of Durham or in the systemic segregation that Duke helped to impose. The roots holding Duke to Durham are weak and brittle after years of neglect and indifference.
Durham was once home to one of the nation’s thriving African-American communities. In the 1880s, many former slaves settled here, working to establish the Hayti District, which still exists today. Hayti developed successful businesses, a large AME church and North Carolina Central University, one of the country’s top HBCUs.
However, in turn, this community suffered from heavy disenfranchisement. In the 1930s, in an effort to relieve the distress of the Great Depression, the Federal Housing Administration began offering low-interest mortgages to homeowners in desperate need. Unfortunately though perhaps not unexpectedly, certain neighborhoods were zoned as “too risky” to lend to. The “Fourth Grade” neighborhoods were, almost without exception, poor communities of color. Thus, through extensive redlining throughout the country, black America was excluded from the aid granted to its white counterpart. Black neighborhoods were subject to disinvestment and dilapidation.
Furthering the blow in Hayti, the construction of NC Highway 147 began in 1962. This Durham Freeway purposefully cut straight through the heart of Hayti, cutting the once-thriving black community off from the heart of downtown Durham, and rendering it incapable of expanding its businesses.
After years of relatively steady impoverishment, the so-called “Durham Renaissance” began. Young professionals moved into the neighborhoods near East Campus, startups and entrepreneurial ventures popped up across the city, and farmers markets became trendy. While the arrival of commerce and jobs was welcome, acts like the 2001 redevelopment of the American Tobacco Campus came at a cost. And as is customary in the United States, that cost was paid by communities of color.
As trendy bars and restaurants sprung up across once blighted and heavily African-American areas of cities like Brooklyn, Oakland and Atlanta, housing prices have soared, leaving residents who have spent decades in their neighborhoods unable to pay rent. Durham is no exception.
High rent pushed many out of their homes and onto the street. But this does not have to be. This city that is now beginning once again to thrive, a city that is known as the foodie town of the South and an intellectual capital of North Carolina, can and should establish the services and affordable housing policies to accommodate all of its citizens. With better regulation of the housing market and a dedication to keeping these historic neighborhoods diverse, Durham can honor both its past and its future. Durham need not be reduced to an either/or: black/white, poor/rich, blighted/thriving, us/them. Durham can make history by demanding prosperity and success for all of its inhabitants.
And that’s where we come into play. Duke students are powerful and intelligent, and we have the opportunity to change our relationship with our city. This column aims to bridge the divide between historic downtown and “The Plantation,” and inform our students—who hail from across the globe—of the rich political, cultural and social history of their new hometown. Duke has played its part in the intense revitalization of Durham, with its wellspring of knowledge and innovation serving as a magnet for entrepreneurship and success.
But Duke has also had an equal hand in the gentrification, segregation and exploitation of Durham neighborhoods. So often, Duke students remain indifferent to the problems that plague their neighbors, choosing to ignore North Carolina politics and legal changes, dilapidating public schools, the presence of violence right down the road.
Throughout this semester, we must examine real voices and issues that afflict our town. In an effort to let go of the myths of violence and cruelty that surround Bull City, it’s our responsibility to meet its residents and connect with its stories. We will acknowledge that Durham is both its esteemed Academy and its historic Hillside High. If anyone can understand duality, it’s Duke.
Leah Abrams is a Trinity freshman. Her column, “cut the bull,” will run on alternate Fridays.
Get The Chronicle straight to your inbox
Signup for our weekly newsletter. Cancel at any time.
Leah Abrams is a Trinity senior and the Editor of the editorial section. Her column, "cut the bull," runs on alternate Fridays.