This article is part of a series of pieces which chronicle the development of Auburn Hills, one of our city’s first racially integrated spaces. The series is being published by The Rapidian.

The story of Auburn Hills is a story of triumph – where in the face of fear and unfamiliarity, our community saw the creation of a new space, an integrated space. This series documents this important piece of our city’s history, and includes video of the original residents of the neighborhood and their experiences. We will also use the story of Auburn Hills as a launching pad for a deeper exploration into the current lived experience of African Americans in our city. In so doing, we hope to create space for a more full understanding of our racialized landscape. It is our desire that through this exploration, we might begin to again envision new spaces: spaces that we can collectively move into. 

“All men are caught in an inescapable network of mutuality, tied in a single garment of destiny. Whatever affects one directly, affects all indirectly. I can never be what I ought to be until you are what you ought to be, and you can never be what you ought to be until I am what I ought to be.” 

Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.


Most parents are familiar with the discomfort of having to have “the talk” with their children. Even if you’re not a parent, you’ve probably been on the receiving end of the “there’s-this-thing-called-puberty talk” or the “kitty’s-gone-to-heaven talk.” Some of us might have had one of those talks and not the other. Maybe our parents were too uncomfortable, or maybe our parents just didn’t have the right words. Maybe they felt the need, as many parents do, to preserve our childish innocence for just a while longer: to shield us from some of the harsher realities of our world.

In the case of Auburn Hills, we found that parents of the black families that moved to the development shielded their children from the racially charged vitriol of the time.  Shielding, as our interviews begin to show, is not just a matter of withholding information; it also involves a changing or adapting of the narrative to make it understandable for a child.

Humanness of Shielding

Beverly Grant was a young child when her father, Dr. Julius Franks, began the process of purchasing and developing what we now know as Auburn Hills. We asked Beverly if she has any memory of the racial tension of the time, and she described how it wasn’t until the early 2000’s that she became fully aware of the kind of tension that was going on around the development.

“Never did [Dad] tell me the difficulties of how that was,” she says. “He would always tell me that there are good white folks, and there are good black folks. You just need to figure out who they are, and work with them.”

This conversation is a very human one. Most of us can relate to an experience of when we “softened” a story depending on who we were telling it to. It is shielding that explains why we have code-words like “the birds and the bees,” or why we soften our language around the death or passing of a loved one. Embedded in this softened narrative are often nuggets of wisdom or truth.

What is unique for families of color is that many of the shielded conversations that parents have revolve around race. In families of color, parents are oftentimes forced to shield their children from the realities of raising a child of color in America.

Paula Triplett was also young when her family moved to Auburn Hills. We asked Triplett for her perspective on the racially charged atmosphere of the early 1960s.

“I was more interested in what was the new record from the Jackson Five,” says Paula, “We knew- and it would happen- where people would call out ‘words’ to us, and we would have to run… The people who didn’t like us, we knew to avoid them. We knew to go to someplace safe. But we didn’t carry this chip on our shoulder because we grew up here.”

While listening to Triplett, we began to wonder how she knew. How did she know who to avoid? Who told her? What did those conversations sound like? So we took our questions on the road, and began to ask other families of color. What do conversations about race sound like for you now?

Demoor-Tannor, Party of Seven

Joanna Demoor-Tannor is a native Canuck. The daughter of a Dutch immigrant, she moved to Grand Rapids in 1999 where she attended Calvin College. There she met her husband, Gabriel Tannor, a born and raised Ghanaian. The Demoor-Tannors have five children. The three youngest are biological (ages 3, 5 and 7), and the two elder joined their family four years ago from the Democratic Republic of Congo (ages 17 and 20). Demoor-Tannor and I met at a local anti-racism workshop. I was so intrigued by the complexity of her families ethnic, and racial composition, that I wondered how that diversity would nuance their family conversations about race.

Curly versus straight 

I asked Demoor-Tannor what conversations about race sound like in her home. Our discussion wandered and covered a myriad of fascinating subjects, but one in particular stood out to me.

“I have a lot of conversations with my daughter,” says Demoor-Tannor, “and it’s because of her hair. It’s soft and curly, but she wants straight blonde hair… She often talks about how she wants that kind of hair. I tell her that when I was a little girl, I really wanted curly hair, and I realize now that it was such a waste of time. I remember how much time I spent wishing I was something that I wasn’t and it never changed anything. And then I tell her, just for the record that ‘I love her curls.’ [Her hair] is also something that people comment on all the time. People often mention it and try to touch it and mention it. Maybe part of her discomfort comes from how much attention she gets.”

There, embedded in Demoor-Tannor’s loving words, was an attempt to shield her daughter from the external pressures of female beauty. And coupled with that was a nugget of wisdom about the frivolity of wishing for something that just cannot be. But there was a nuance to that conversation, a nuance that is necessitated by Demoor-Tannor’s daughter’s mixed race heritage and the historical legacy of black hair in America.

Dating White Women

Cole Williams is an African-American father. Williams is a native of Benton Harbor, but now lives in Grand Rapids where he works as a social worker. I first heard Williams, and his son Nathan Williams, in a story on a StoryCorps interview that they did back a few years ago.

I asked Williams what kind of shielded conversations he haCole and Nathans had with his son. One conversation in particular grabbed my attention.

“I can’t believe I’m about to say this out loud,” Williams confesses, “but him and white women. I’ve always talked a great deal about, you know, just being careful. No, we’re not talking about Emmett Till days, but I also just want you to be conscientious of your surroundings. A young white girl who says you touched her or raped her could give you some time. So you know, I always was cautious of who he dated. I never told him that he couldn’t date outside his race, but we definitely talked about the possible impacts of him dating outside his race and what could happen to him. Now I don’t know if white men have these conversations with their sons, if they want to date a black girl, but I know for me that was a conversation that him and I had to have.”

Again, we see in Williams’ conversations with his son that familiar structure of shielding. Williams softens the potential threat to his son, “no, we’re not talking about Emmett Till days,” and then offers his wisdom, “but I also just want you to be conscientious of your surroundings.”

The Cost of Shielding

Through our conversation, Williams and I began talking about some of the potential implications of shielding: how the “wisdom” offered by a parent to protect their child can begin to reinforce unfair social hierarchies. Williams is a big man, and is very conscious of how his size and presence has the potential to be perceived as threatening, particularly in a profession that is saturated with predominantly white women. We talked about how he is forced to carry the negative stereotypes of black men as aggressive and threatening, and how he has learned to act in a way that diffuses this threat. I asked Williams, how he thought this might have translated to his son.

“I don’t think [my son] is perceived as threatening either, but I wonder too if he’s not perceived as threatening because of the way he’s modeled after me. I was very intentional about teaching Nathan how to communicate,” he says. “Because I understood from the messages I was receiving too, that if you’re an angry black man, there’s not a place for that in society. And this is what I told him, ‘you can’t be an angry black man in this society. If you are an angry black man, you could potentially find yourself without a job, or incarcerated.’ If you want to be able to navigate this society that we live in, you’ve got to blend. And I think I taught him that. Wow, I’ve never thought about that before. I’ve taught my son to blend… And it silences me.”

“Wow, I’ve never thought about that before. I’ve taught my son to blend… And It silences me.”

Stories of Resistance

In our interview, Demoor-Tannor tells me about some of the ways their family deals with the realities of being a family of color in America. One mechanism is a kind of simple, albeit poignant, honesty:

“[We are] honest with our kids about the realities that they face because we can’t cover over those things indefinitely. I don’t want them to have to figure it out on their own someday without me there as a resource to help them through it. I think even at a young age they are capable of understanding quite a bit. They approach it with their child-likeness that teaches me things,” she says.

I asked Williams what the larger community can do to begin to change the narrative and lessen the need for race-based shielding. He tells me that we can offer affirmation. Affirmation that takes into consideration one’s full identity, not just as a man, but as a black man.

“What I want for my son is [for him] to be affirmed that who he is, is good. To be affirmed that as a black man, he has dreams. To be affirmed that as a black man, who has these sorts of struggles, that there are others who share in that. And that he isn’t alone. I think, one thing the community can do is to provide safe places for that to happen.”

Creating New Spaces

In the spirit of Auburn Hills and the creation of new spaces, it is our deepest hope that we can begin to again imagine a new space. A narrative space, where the messages that inform our children’s identities are not laden with race-based biases or assumptions that shape who they are. Creating this space requires work and effort, and a collective will to begin to change. But thanks to Auburn Hills, and the countless triumphs that have gone before, we know that we are capable. The question is, are we ready?

I think we are.


This article was first published in The Rapidian.

The intent behind this series of articles on Auburn Hills is to serve as a launching pad for a deeper exploration into the current lived experience of African Americans in our city. In so doing, we hope to create space for a more full understanding of our racialized landscape. It is our desire that through this exploration, we might begin to again envision new spaces like Auburn Hills; spaces that we can collectively move into.

The interviews of the original residents of Auburn Hills are the brain fuel for these articles. These videos are the result of the hard work of Jeremy Moore, Joel Van Kuiken and Denise Evans.

Not many people in Grand Rapids know the story of Auburn Hills: the story of how four African American families envisioned a neighborhood where any person, regardless of their race, could live. This is a story of triumph- where in the face of fear and unfamiliarity, our community saw the creation of a new space, an integrated space. This series documents this important piece of our city’s history, and includes video of the original residents of the neighborhood and their experiences. We will also use the story of Auburn Hills as a launching pad for a deeper exploration into the current lived experience of African Americans in our city. In so doing, we hope to create space for a more full understanding of our racialized landscape. It is our desire that through this exploration, we might begin to again envision new spaces: spaces that we can collectively move into. 

“All men are caught in an inescapable network of mutuality, tied in a single garment of destiny. Whatever affects one directly, affects all indirectly. I can never be what I ought to be until you are what you ought to be, and you can never be what you ought to be until I am what I ought to be.” 

Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.

In the early 1960s, “redlining” was a common practice across the United States. This practice was designed to confine blacks to certain areas of a city through a variety of explicit and implicit means. In frustrated response, four black professional men came together in 1962 to buy and develop a plot of vacant land in northeast Grand Rapids, with the vision of creating an integrated neighborhood that was open to all.

Dr. Julius Franks, J.E. Adams, Joseph Lee and Samuel Triplett (The Four) were middle- and upper-middle class AfricanAmericans living and working in Grand Rapids. J.E. Adams was an educator, serving as a teacher, administrator and principal during his career. Dr. Julius Franks was a dentist and former University of Michigan football star. Samuel Triplett was a teacher and the first African American to teach in the Grand Rapids Public Schools at South High, and Joseph Lee was a social worker and twice president of the Grand Rapids Urban League. In 1962, all four men were part of a philanthropic organization called the Ta-Wa-Si Club. The club was designed to help black high school students attain college scholarships and expose them to college opportunities. At one club meeting, Dr. Franks brought in a notice of “land for sale” by the City of Grand Rapids. The 20 acre parcel of land was advertised as “perfect for developing” near the corner of Fuller and Sweet streets. This land, while still in the city, was outside the “red-lined” area that black families were constrained to. Undeterred, the four men saw purchase of the land as an opportunity to provide modern housing and good educational opportunities to a growing black middle class.

The land was listed without a price, so The Four came up with a reasonable offer of approximately $1000 per acre at $20,500. For reasons unknown, the City rejected their bid and listed the land at $54,500, more than double The Four’s original bid. Despite the exorbitant price, the four bid again at $60,000 and the offer was eventually accepted with $12,000 down and a five-year land contract. From the very beginning, The Four envisioned the creation of an open neighborhood where anyone, including black families, could call home.

The backlash to the sale agreement was swift and severe. Existing neighbors feared that an integrated neighborhood would eventually turn into a slum. To substantiate this fear, the residents approached the City saying that it was “unnatural” for white and black to live so close together. One City Commission meeting saw over 100 neighbors turn out to voice their concerns. With such overwhelming pressure against the development, the City eventually balked and stalled the sale of the land, saying they were unsure if they had the right to sell the land without City Commission approval. As fear began to spread, the City came under increasing pressure to back out of the sale. At a special City Commission hearing regarding the development, well over 500 white residents showed up to express their anxiety over the development.

Sensing the rising tide of white dissent, The Four decided to hire an attorney that would push the City to make a decision regarding the legality of sale agreement. Local black organizations like the NAACP and the Grand Rapids Urban League entered the fray providing both legal and moral support for the four developers.

This is when something truly amazing began to happen. A coalition of church leaders, led by Duncan Littlefair of the mostly white Fountain Street Church, came together and asked churches to take a stand on the issue. In response, churches across the city, black and white, began to voice their support of The Four and pushed the City to see the development through.

Thus began a struggle that spanned two long bitter years. A war of public opinion was waged in our city over the freedom of black movement. Loud voices from both sides of the color line vociferously called for either the cessation or continuation of the development.

But public opinion was changing. The broader civil rights movement was gaining traction across the nation and Grand Rapids was not exempt. The City however, as with most systems, was slow to react to the changing times. A series of stalling tactics on the City’s behalf prevented The Four from building on the land that they had paid for.

Tensions continued to grow and eventually came to a crescendo in the winter of 1963, when in an unprecedented occurrence, the Chamber of Commerce charged the City with stalling and demanded that the development be allowed to continue. The City finally complied and allowed the development to move forward.

Auburn Hills Flier Courtesy of the Franks Family Archive

Auburn Hills Flier Courtesy of the Franks Family Archive

In January of 1964, two years after their purchase of the land, The Four saw one of their own housed in Auburn Hills. Joseph Lee, was the first of the four to build his own house in the neighborhood. The literature that came out about the development reflected The Four’s original goals: “Auburn Hills is a community project, created to promote the freedom of residence.” The neighborhood never became a slum as neighbors feared and, true to its founders’ vision, was always integrated. To this day, the area surrounding Auburn Hills continues to be one of our city’s most racially and ethnically diverse.

The story of Auburn Hills is truly a jewel of our city’s history. Over the next few articles, we will go into more depth around the experience of life in Auburn Hills for some of its original residents of color. There are fascinating stories to be told. We will unearth hidden narratives from how parents shielded their children from the maelstrom of public opinion, to the implications of leaving a “black space” for a “white space.” We hope you find these articles valuable and that they spark in you a desire to unearth stories of your own, and as we grow in understanding of ourselves and each other we might come back together to envision new horizons.

Too often, the word “gentrification” is a conversation-ender. In 2010, when vandals marked up several prominent Wealthy Street businesses with indictments of gentrification we saw a combination of resistance and diversion from the Wealthy Street business community and its patrons, which again seemed to shut down the conversation. The “charges” of gentrification were dangerously dismissed as being the result of “disgruntled suburban kids… who [don’t] understand what’s really going on in this neighborhood.” G.R.I.I.D quotes a news report where one of the affected business owners said that he knew the protesters were not people from the neighborhood “because most drug dealers don’t use words like ‘gentrification.” 

The problem with diverting the story away from affected communities is that it again shifts the focus of the conversation away from the real effects that gentrification has on communities and the real opinions that communities have about the gentrification process. So the purpose of these next few entries are to help us engage in conversation around gentrification and hopefully will help us understand better what really IS going on in this neighborhood.

The Sparrows, a coffeehouse and newsstand at 1035 Wealthy St. SE, was among the businesses vandalized early Christmas morning, 2010.

The Sparrows, a coffeehouse and newsstand at 1035 Wealthy St. SE, was among the businesses vandalized early Christmas morning, 2010.

Now held up as a bastion of urban renewal, the narrative around the development of Wealthy Street has been that of a group of dedicated neighbors who fought to reclaim their neighborhood from the symptoms of urban blight. While I do not question that these neighbors worked hard, and will not argue that the issues associated with marginalized urban neighborhoods are ones that any person should have to be consigned to, it is clear to even the most casual of observers that the benefits of the development of Wealthy Street do not extend south of corridor itself.

The question that immediately comes to my mind is: What enabled these community organizers to be so “successful” in their development efforts? In order to adequately answer this question, I think we need to delve deeper into a few things. Over the next few weeks, we will take time to probe into the following aspects of the development of Wealthy Street.

  1. History
  2. Incentives
  3. Policy

The final piece of this quartet will be describing a people’s reality as they interact with Wealthy Street. I hope that you will lend your voice to the conversation!


Recently, it was brought to my attention that Grand Rapids as a city has, and has had for a while, one of the highest rates of black infant mortality in the country. 2009 data shows that our most recent black infant mortality rate hovers around 17.3%. To give you some context, this places us behind Mexico (16.2%) and well behind Syria (14.6%). Another interesting point of contrast is our white infant mortality rate, which is around 4.4%; safely below our national average of 5.9%. Research shows that outlying risk factors (education, socio-economic status, access etc) account for less than 10% in the variances in the rates of low birth rates between white and black babies. In Fact, white women who smoke during gestation, a known risk factor, still have significantly lower infant mortality rates than African-American women who do not.

Infant Mortality Rates in Grand Rapids

Infant Mortality Rates in Grand Rapids

So what then is causing this awful health disparity in a city lauded as a “mecca of health?” Medical professionals believe that ongoing exposure to large quantities of stress hormones is a leading cause in disparate pregnancy outcomes, as stress is known to be a complicating factor for pregnancy. The question then becomes: what large stressor is present for African-American women that doesn’t exist for white women?

Racism. The stress of racism is one of the leading causes for higher infant mortality rates among African American women. 

“Statistics show that women with very low birth weight babies were three times as likely to have experienced interpersonal racism than women with children of normal birth rates. Foreign-born black women see their rates of infant mortality rise to the same level as U.S.-born black women within a generation.” – Megan Carpentier, RH Reality Check.

A report last year scored the U.S. 100 largest metropolitan areas according to racial equity for African Americans. All of the 15 least equitable cities (Grand Rapids is 13th) have black infant mortality rates that are significantly higher than the nation’s average.

As somebody who works in the social service industry, we should start thinking about what kind of societal changes need to take place in order to make our city safer one for all our women. For more information on how to be a part of changing the current disparate landscape, contact the Grand Rapids African Health Institute and talk to Stephanie. She’ll point you in the right direction.


via: Young Adult Leadership Task Force of the CRC

Listening to Dr. John Perkins speak about how this generation is the first in America to embrace diversity struck a chord with me. Being at the national CCDA conference with four of Tall Turf’s teens, each from a different ethnic background, I felt proud. Proud that we were representative of this diversity that Dr. Perkins spoke of, and proud that our differences were being valued so highly.

On the long drive back to Grand Rapids from New Orleans, one of the topics that came up with our teens was how different it felt being in a place that recognized the value in diversity as opposed to living in a place that so often does not. We talked about how in Grand Rapids, our ethnic backgrounds at times feel more like an inconvenience or something to be glossed over, rather than a gift and as added to potential to who we are.

In the world that we live in, white is often synonymous with power and embedded in power is the ability to impart value. The result of this, albeit a shameful one for people of color, is that we too often search but do not receive validation from white society. For example, a couple of months ago I was at a church event with my wife who is white. She was engaged in a prolonged round of “Dutch bingo” with a fellow Grand Rapidian, until my obvious lack of engagement in the conversation resulted in its topic eventually coming to rest on me.

“Where are you from?” I was asked.

“I’m from Singapore” I responded.

“Oh, wow. But your English is so good!” I was devalued.


Although the above exchange might seem insignificant and isolated to the foreign-born, it is one that shades itself in different hues for many people of color. The questions “where are you from,” “what school did you go to,” “where do you work” or perhaps the most poignant “where do you go to church,” begin to feel like probes that are used to measure value. And when our answers do not match the standard set by those in power, we begin to internalize the fact that we lack value.

I think the implications of this is two-fold. First, to my people of color: I think it is important for young people of color, to find places where we can be affirmed in the value of our diversity. As leaders of color we need to continually affirm each other and remind ourselves that there is value in our diversity and seek to eliminate barriers that hinder our coming together. Second, I think it is important for our white brothers and sisters to recognize that there are power dynamics at play and to be educated on the appropriate (another post to follow on appropriatemess) ways to affirm people who are different.

Lastly, I think it is important to create spaces where people have the luxury of making mistakes. Over here in GR, through C.O.R.R. (congregations organizing around racial reconciliation) we caucus once every other month. Caucusing is the, when it comes to being encouraged and motivated to deal with some of this stuff. If you are interested in getting involved, let me know.


Earlier this week WoodTV8 did a story on a “secret school for illegal immigrants” that was meant to reveal an undercover program designed to help undocumented children and youth who came here on their own.

I couldn’t help but be mad when I saw this. Here’s why:

The sensationalized title: I was honestly a little disappointed when I watched the actual story. It didn’t seem half as conspiratorial as the title suggested. The main reason for that being that the program offered by Bethany Christian Services is not actually “secret.” The information about the lives of the children in the program is secret, but that’s a critical distinction.

Screen Shot 2013-09-08 at 9.06.17 AM

Using the “I” Word: use of the word “illegal” primes the audience to already be against the children and the program that advocates for them.  “Illegal” is a harmful slur that dehumanizes and discriminates against immigrants regardless of migratory status. Many of the children/youth in Bethany’s UAC program are seeking Asylum from circumstances in their own country. This does not mean that they are here illegally, it just means that they are “in process.” If you don’t think that using “illegal” as a descriptor has a negative effect, you need not go far; the comment stream on the above story should suffice.

the economic benefit of immigrants:  the story highlights repeatedly how much money the government spends on programs such as these without mention of the net economic gain that immigrants provide this economy. Research shows that undocumented immigrants actually contribute more to public coffers in taxes than they cost in social services and contribute to the U.S. economy through their investments and consumption of goods and services; filling of millions of essential worker positions that results in job creation, increased productivity and lower costs of goods and services; and in contributions to Social Security, Medicare and unemployment insurance programs which they themselves do not benefit from.

Tools for action: 

Support Bethany Christian Services: they do awesome work in our community and really are not trying to just make a buck. Visit their website or give them a call to find out more.

Drop the “i” word: Applied Research Center (ARC) is a racial justice think-tank that is running a campaign to drop the “i” word, join the movement. Locally, there is a petition to get WoodTV8 to also drop the “i” word. You can sign that petition here. No human being is illegal.

Be informed: Do some research into the economic impacts of immigration, you will be surprised. And it is always a great conversation starter.


My friend Jermale and his wife are opening up a juice bar at the new downtown market. This juice bar is not just chalk full of anti-oxidant-goodness, it is also an avenue that they use to hire kids from our community. Simply put: it’s AWESOME.

The downtown market‘s diversity clause however? Less awesome. Out of 28 vendors in the indoor market, only two vendors, are people of color but the market’s slogan is “accessible, convenient and welcoming, just like West Michigan.”

Welcoming? um, not so much downtown, and not so much West Michigan. Let’s make some room for more Malamiah’s.


fruit juice

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