Old Versus New: Change in East Saint Louis, Hilton Head & Detroit
By the time my father ended his 26-year military career, I had lived in eight United States cities and Heidelberg, Germany. Despite the various relocations, two places in my life were consistent: East Saint Louis, Illinois and Hilton Head Island, South Carolina- my parent’s hometowns. Although the two places are generally diametrically opposed-one considered to be America’s most dangerous city, the other a resort destination — both cities represent the American dream and how it can be built up and torn down. Moreover, they both offer poignant narratives of progress and destruction, and the persistence of wealth, race, and class in our supposed post-racial society.
East Saint Louis is a city largely unrecognizable, save for its negative portrayal in the media. My mother’s alma mater, Eastside High School, was the subject of Jonathon Kozole’s novel Savage Inequalities, which highlighted East Saint Louis’ broken education system. Once an industrial powerhouse with over 200 industries and the second largest railroad center next to Chicago, East Saint Louis is now one of the worst hazardous waste sites in the United States and boasts some of the highest rates of child asthma in the nation. Once a racially and socioeconomically diverse community, East Saint Louis is now 98% black, with nearly 44% of residents living below the poverty line, as reported by the United States Census. According to the FBI, the city’s murder rate is 17 times the United States average. After migrating to East Saint Louis from Mississippi during the Great Migration of the 1940s, my grandmother and the majority of my mother’s family now call East Saint Louis home. I spent several summers in East Saint Louis, including two in high school training for track. During those summers I grew very fond of East Saint Louis-its history and its culture- and I always wondered why a city once so powerful fell like it did. Why did my grandmother’s street have crater size potholes and a faulty sewer system that caused it to flood every time it rained, but cities minutes away had freshly paved roads and other amenities?
My father is from Hilton Head Island, South Carolina. Known as a resort destination for its bustling real estate and sprawling golf courses, Hilton Head Island was founded after the Civil War by the descendants of freed slaves named the Gullah who labored on the rice plantations. Their isolation on the Sea Islands allowed them to preserve many of their cultural African traditions. My father’s entire family is Gullah, and the Gullah culture and language are some of the last unappropriated remnants of African cultural heritage in the United States. Yet, the Gullah culture is rapidly dying. Every time I visit there is a new traffic pattern pushing my family further and further back onto the island. Moreover, the current design of Hilton Head allows visitors to tour the island without seeing any of its native inhabitants. My family’s financial stake in the island is dwindling as well. Once a family member dies investors buy my family out of property that has been in my family for every generation during and since slavery.
Growing up in different places, combined with my experiences visiting East Saint Louis and Hilton Head, informed my passions and made me aware of the social inequities that exist. My love of history, and my intellectual interests in education, race and inequality, grew directly from my life experiences, and led me to my current home: Detroit. I relocated to Detroit just a mere three months after graduating from college. I moved to Detroit to participate in a fellowship called Challenge Detroit. Challenge Detroit is a yearlong urban revitalization program that brings 30 individuals to live and work in the city of Detroit. Through the fellowship I worked for the Detroit Lions in their marketing department, and collaborated with the other fellows on different economic development projects in Detroit. I worked on multiple assignments focused on community development, minority entrepreneurship and infrastructure development, including an extensive project on the expansion of the Detroit Riverfront. However, most importantly, I fell in love with Detroit and its history. And almost ten years later, I am proud to still call Detroit home.
Nevertheless, despite the city’s ongoing transformation, stories of poverty and racism are excluded. In the midst of the development of multi-million dollar developments in the midtown and central business district, including hotels, upscale restaurants and pricey apartments, poverty is widespread and the lack of resources have left some of the city’s longtime residents fighting to remain afloat. Very few of the city’s citizens, particularly those who reside in the neighborhoods, benefit from the city’s “resurgence.”
Detroit is one of America’s most significant cities, and I want more and more people to experience the city I call home. And yet I fear that like East Saint Louis, longtime residents of the city will be left to fend for themselves as gentrified Detroit becomes thee Detroit. And with so many eyeballs on Detroit and investors flocking to the city, will Detroit become a Hilton Head? Or rather, a tale of two cities: one where new residents prosper and longtime residents do not. This tension between new and old is not a Detroit problem; it is a problem that just so happens to be in Detroit. This change of space and place, and the shifting of resources, is happening across the country; often at the expense of Black people. I simply yearn for Detroit, East Saint Louis and Hilton Head to be places where all people, natives and newcomers, can live out their potential.