Ask A D.C. Native: How has your neighborhood changed over the years?

When I was in elementary school, the cafeteria doubled as a recreation center after classes ended. Dozens of kids would fill the space, playing board games and cards indoors, or shooting hoops and jumping double-dutch on the school’s outdoor basketball court. Children spilled out into the neighborhood, covering every inch of it on bikes or foot, playing tag or hide and seek. 

In the summers, we’d have block parties where each household would bring a dish; parents would gossip with their fellow neighbors and kids would get drenched by open fire hydrants. Parents, especially those who had to work late and weekend shifts, felt their kids were safe within the confines of the community — at least while the street lights were on. 

At the time, in the ‘90s and early 2000s, D.C. was dubbed “Chocolate City.” And my neighborhood, River Terrace, felt like a bubble of Blackness. Growing up around people who look like me cultivated how I experienced the world and saw my people within it. Though the media often portrayed Black folks in a negative light, I knew firsthand that violence, drug use, and corruption were not the defining traits of our community. In River Terrace, there was a sense of safety, security, and comfort that can only be experienced when you’re living among people with cultural kinship and understanding. 

So, the first time I saw a white person waiting for a train at Minnesota Avenue Metro Station, I felt culture shock. I was confused, panicked, irritated. It was like the dynamics of my neighborhood shifted without warning. I felt like a war was coming, and I left home unarmed. 

As dramatic as this sounds, it’s how I felt. Just as much as being the only Black person in a predominantly white space can feel isolating, seeing just one white person in a Black community can be disorienting. If you see one, it’s likely more are coming. And historically, white people infiltrating Black spaces has not worked well for us. 

This memory from the Metro station is the first image that comes to mind when I think about how my neighborhood has changed. At the time, I was a young journalist in my early 20s who covered topics like gentrification. I’d read articles and interviewed historians about the displacement of Black people and entire communities of color. Then, I began to notice things like Capital Bikeshare docks popping up in the neighborhood; but there was no formal introduction to residents on how to use them. I had a sense that they weren’t for us. 

I also noticed more neighbors walking and biking the Anacostia Riverwalk Trail, where my older brothers and I traversed from River Terrace Park to the Anacostia Park roller skating rink as kids. It was more dangerous back then, due to lack of upkeep and the folks you could run into along the way. But by this time, it was fully paved with a new pedestrian bridge, to boot. 

As time progressed, there seemed to be fewer curious kids on adventures throughout the community. In 2012, the elementary school that educated my brothers and me — and even my mother 20+ years earlier — shuttered. A few years later, it reopened as a special education campus for D.C. public schools. This meant that instead of walking their kids up the street on weekday mornings, most parents now had to drive or take public transit to the next closest public elementary school, which was separated from the neighborhood by a highway — or further, to a charter or private school. 

Today, the neighborhood is still majority Black, but it’s more racially and ethnically diverse than it’s been in all of my life. My parents, who still live in my childhood home, now live next door to a sweet older white woman who shares the same first name as my grandmother. More Hispanic families have moved in, too. And in theory, that’s the D.C. we all want to see — one made of communities with people from diverse backgrounds and cultures, blending histories and traditions for more communal understanding. Plus, I’m happy to report I haven’t heard of any race wars! Yet. 

The arrival of new residents doesn’t mean that neighbors aren’t still connected. River Terrace has one of the most active and civically engaged community organizations in Ward 7. But I can’t help but grieve over childhood experiences that, in my view, have been eroded. 

The neighborhood still has its heart. I just wonder if, at some point over the years, it lost its soul.