Читать книгу Lessons in Environmental Justice - Группа авторов - Страница 21

Picture this: In Texarkana, Texas, a thriving African American neighborhood called Carver Terrace is flourishing in the 1960s. Proud homeowners inhabit the neighborhood, jobs are plentiful, strong social networks connect neighbors, and the Mt. Zion Missionary Baptist Church is an active place. Residents compete to have the best lawns; children play safely outside; and gardens yield flowers, fruit, and vegetables. The neighborhood seems close to ideal. Fast forward to the early 1990s, and the neighborhood sits empty, surrounded by a chain link fence with posted “NO TRESPASSING” signs. The houses and church are boarded up, and weeds are growing in the once well-manicured yards. You’ll notice the unnatural silence. There are no people—no children playing outside, no neighbors calling to each other. By 1993, the houses and church are completely gone, and only the concrete pads, driveways, and streets are still in place. Some gardens are still blooming—the last “residents” to give up on the place. How could a place so promising disappear?

Carver Terrace was built in the 1960s by a Louisiana-based developer who intentionally designed an affordable community for prospective African American homebuyers. Given the realities of racially segregated space in the South (and elsewhere), a development like this was highly desirable. As a resident told me, “It was a drawing card to us, because there had not been any houses of this quality available to us.” Those who moved in had a variety of stories—some were middle-class professionals; others were working-class residents who had never owned their own home. All were thrilled at the opportunity offered by Carver Terrace. The houses were eagerly bought up, and for many years, the neighborhood appeared to thrive.