This spring, I finally picked up The Color of Law by Richard Rothstein.
The book has been on my shelf for several years, namely because I’m interested in the subject but also because I felt determined to make my way through all the books that shared a similar title to my own.
When my first book, The Color of Life, released in 2019, I knew multiple similarities existed with James McBride’s The Color of Water, which came out in 2006. However, I didn’t think much of it until Jemar Tisby released his first book a month before my own (with an imprint of the same publisher, no less), The Color of Compromise. Soon after, I discovered Rothstein’s book and really felt like there was nothing new under the sun.
If you haven’t read The Color of Law, “Rothstein describes how the American government systematically imposed residential segregation: with undisguised racial zoning; public housing that purposefully segregated previously mixed communities; subsidies for builders to create whites-only suburbs; tax exemptions for institutions that enforced segregation; and support for violent resistance to African Americans in white neighborhoods.”
Although the book felt a bit outdated at times, particularly when it came to antiquated language around current conversations of race, there was still so much to glean from Rothstein’s findings.
Take, for instance, the construction of the federal interstate highway system. As Rothstein writes, “In many cases, state and local governments, with federal acquiescence, designed interstate highway routes to destroy urban African American communities” (127). Just as these highway planners didn’t hide their racial motivations, the highways built in places like the San Francisco Bay Area, where I live, acted as slum clearance tools.
Wide swaths of land (or, to be clear, land labeled slums) were cleared to asl make room for “hospitals, universities, middle-class housing, and offices,” all in the name of urban renewal — or, as Rothstein writes, Negro removal (139).
Take this story of one African American man:
In 1952, Wilbur Gary, a building contractor, was living with his family in one of Richmond, California’s, public housing projects. He was an African American navy war veteran, a former shipyard worker, and vice-commander of his American Legion post. The Gary family needed to find a new residence — their apartment complex was slated for demolition because the federal Lanham Act had required government projects for war workers to be temporary. A fellow navy veteran, Lieutenant Commander Sidney Hogan, was moving out of Rollingwood, the suburb just outside Richmond built during World War II with an FHA requirement that the suburb be covered with restrictive covenants. Four years earlier, though, the Supreme Court had ruled that covenants were not enforceable, so Hogan sold his property to Wilbur Gary and his wife (139).
This happened in the name of urban renewal, to the detriment of the Black population. And as someone who lives in what is often described as a rather forgotten side of the city I call home, I see how the effects of what happened then affect my neighbors now.
What does it mean to make right the wrongs, to stand on the side of justice, to pave new and better ways forward?
Perhaps we can start by thinking about The One Big, Beautiful Bill that has passed the Senate and made its way to the House. In more ways than one, the bill hurts Americans more than it helps Americans. As many readers know, over 17 million Americans stand to lose Medicaid coverage if the bill passes – a fact that some deny, claiming they don’t receive Medicaid, they receive Medical (California) or Medquest (Hawaii). These folks fail to understand that Medicaid goes by many different names, in all fifty of the states.
But as Reverend Jes Kast states, “How one chooses to spend money (or where to cut money) is a moral statement. Not just a fiscal statement.” Kast goes on to point followers to Matthew 25:31-46, when Jesus says that nations will be judged by how they treat the most vulnerable.
I’m not sure if the point could be any clearer: If you follow Jesus, then you protect the dignity of the most vulnerable. Then you ensure the protection of those who won’t be protected if such a bill passes the House as well.
I realize I’ve strayed off topic from original commentary about racial zoning, Covenant Laws, and segregation and racism in the name of urban sprawl and renewal, but also, I haven’t.
Because this is looking out for our neighbors. This is protecting the most vulnerable. This is following in the ways of Jesus and standing on the side of justice.
And this we can’t deny.
—
I urge you to pick up a copy of The Color of Law if you haven’t already, then report back to me! Otherwise, all book links kick a few pennies over to support the work of this author.
Ad-Free & Subscriber Log-In