who couldn’t live here
WHO COULDN’T LIVE HERE
July 13, 2025
This is still stamped into the sidewalk where we live now. Not a plaque. Not a memorial. Just the ground beneath our feet. Cracked in half. But still there. You may never ask what this neighborhood was built on. But I will tell you anyway. Because one day you will run down these blocks and your laugh in the air and I want you to know what was buried beneath the truth. Not the houses. Not the way the sidewalk curves around the corner. Not the silence that passes for peace. Not the names carved into concrete that most people stop noticing. But the people who were not allowed to live here. Not because they did not want to. Not because they could not afford to. But because they were told no. Because the rules were written that way. Because the land was sold with promises that it would stay a certain kind of white. Even after the university came. Even after the war ended. Even after the laws changed. The message remained the same. This was a place built to keep people out. And then called itself peaceful. Now we live here. We walk past the hedges and the driveways and the quiet. And the arches and the roses. We touch the same steps that once belonged to everyone except us. And that is the part I want you to know. Not to carry it like shame. But to hold it like a map. So when you ask where you are or even if you never do you will know what it took to get you here. And how many were told they could not live here. With us.