Ingenuity in the face of Adversity: The Village that Built Us

Washington Ave, 4pm Shift Change at the Shipyard

“How could it be ‘The Good Ole Days’ if you’re segregated?”

 “You don’t know you’re segregated… We were sheltered… We had our own space.” 

For generations, East End Newport News has served as more than a neighborhood — it has indeed been a village. Our elders remember.  There were Black-owned businesses, banks, recreation spaces, and strong social networks that created a self-sustaining community. So much so, some long-time residents remember never having to travel past 39th Street. Could you imagine? We even had our very own Pinkett's Beach (now known as King-Lincoln Park) to host cookouts in the summer and escape for some quiet time in the winter months. The children were raised collectively having shared principles and values with education on the forefront. Young adults learned skilled trades, preparing themselves for careers in the booming industrial and maritime industries. And the elders oversaw it all. They served; not just as caregivers; but as pillars of mental, physical, and spiritual fortitude. They reminded us of our faith, our resilience, and of our goals. And also reminded us that every one has a vital role in the building of our dreams- and we must play it.

That sense of unity did not disappear. What changed were the policies surrounding the community. Desegregation came as a window of opportunity to expand life, education, and access beyond the East End. And though it did just that; it also came with an unexpected siphon, unravelling the very thread that kept the sustainability of the neighborhood together. Students were bussed out of the area, dismantling black institutions one by one. Community members spent more time away from home, breaking routine hangouts and spreading social circles thin. New access to real estate started sending homeowners, business owners, and investment money up the road for bigger and better opportunities. This drain felt by the community wasn’t a failure on their part, but more so highlighted unequal investments made. When those same resources that built up the neighborhood left, it compounded the loss of the residents themselves. This would prove to be the beginning of the decline that would attempt to define area.

  Between the late 1950s and 1960s, tens of thousands of families were displaced nationwide. Black families were disproportionately affected. Entire neighborhoods—places full of history, culture, relationships, and generational wealth—were erased. Families who eventually found better housing often mourned the loss of their original communities. Urban renewal was so destructive to Black neighborhoods that author James Baldwin famously referred to it as “Negro removal.” These were not accidents. They were policies. Housing, as scholars point out, is the primary way most American families build wealth. Blocking Black families from homeownership—or forcing them into neighborhoods whose value was deliberately suppressed—created an economic gap that still exists today.

These conditions were not caused by a lack of care, but by deliberate systems that restricted where families could live and how communities could grow. The condition of these neighborhoods is not a reflection of the people who live there. It is the result of decades of policy decisions that shaped what resources their neighborhoods received, and how much wealth they could build. As housing experts explain, where you live in America affects almost everything: school funding, access to jobs, neighborhood investment, and long-term financial stability. And for much of the 20th century, housing policy worked explicitly against Black communities. The East End has always been rich in more than property value. It is rich in history, resilience, and people who believe deeply in its potential. With intentional investment and community-centered leadership, its next chapter can be defined not by survival, but by thriving. The story of East End Newport News is not just a local story. It reflects a national pattern: strong Black communities constrained by segregation, undermined by policy, and later blamed for conditions they did not create.

Yet, within this history is also resilience. The same neighborhoods that endured redlining, displacement, and neglect have preserved culture, memory, and community bonds across generations. We are still producing scholars, artists, politicians, athletes, and doctors alike.  The elders who gather to talk about the “good old days” are not romanticizing oppression; they are remembering a time when, despite the barriers around them, they built something meaningful. Today, residents are still here — organizing, advocating, and rebuilding. The $30 million Marshall-Ridley revitalization project, renewed conversations around preserving historic Black institutions. Growing community-led efforts are signaling momentum. Neighbors, organizers, small business owners, and elders are continuing the legacy of the collective care that has always defined the East End. The future of East End Newport News must be shaped with the people who call it home. Real progress means investing in affordable housing, protecting long-time residents from displacement, supporting Black-owned businesses, and preserving the cultural history that makes this community unique.