Segregationist neighborhood defense was rhetorically recast as apolitical community preservation with race unspoken

Evidence

By all surface appearances, the people of Adamsville seemed to form a coherent community in contrast to the “colored people” around them. In January 1955 a variety of working-class residents—truck drivers, metalworkers, railroad switchmen, auto mechanics, contractors, plumbers, brickmasons, carpenters, widows—all signed their names to a petition calling for the protection of their neighborhood. “We have invested many years and considerable money in what we feel is one of the best communities in the greater Atlanta area,” they asserted. “It is our desire and determination not to sell any of our property which will change the status of our present ADAMSVILLE COMMUNITY.” In several cases, this apparent community spirit was amplified when bonds of the neighborhood were reinforced by bonds of a workplace, especially the railroads. Those involved in the early “defense” of Adamsville, for instance, included a switchman, a car repairer, and an engineer for the Southern Railway, as well as a switchman and a clerk for the Nashville, Chattanooga, and St. Louis line. At the top levels of “defense,” the ties became even more pronounced. Of the eight residents leading the campaign, for example, two were married to vehiclemen for the Railway Express, while a third’s husband was chief clerk there. With these overlapping bonds of home and work, Adamsville seemed a model of “community integrity.” … Impressed with this grass-roots response, the WSMDC decided to intervene. Through a series of negotiations with local blacks and whites, Link-wood Road was made the boundary between the “white community” of Adamsville and nearby black neighborhoods. To strengthen the semblance of “community,” and thereby cement the “gentleman’s agreement,” the WSMDC encouraged the Adamsville Civic Club to come up with its own vision of what that community meant to its residents. Its report, Adamsville: Now … and Tomorrow, began by noting the toll that the city’s progress had taken on their once isolated area. “As Atlanta grows larger, small communities like ours begin to lose the personal contacts we once had with our political leaders,” the report lamented. “Fewer people vote. Local issues are rarely discussed.” But this could change, the civic club promised. In the pages that followed, it sketched out a bold vision of the Adamsville of tomorrow—new streets, schools, parks, and shopping centers, all combined with the traditional values of community that made Adamsville special in the first place. Race was never mentioned. Instead, it existed as an unspoken undercurrent throughout the discussion of creating “a desirable community.” For white Atlantans, only an all-white community was desirable. — Kevin M. Kruse, White Flight, 194

Categorization

  • XREF: This is precisely the color-blind suburban conservatism reinvention the reader tracks; echoes the voter-apathy framing that reappears in Sunbelt conservative rhetoric. — connects to: Elite public silence helped segregationist defiance escalate in Charlotte. — Matthew D. Lassiter, The Suburban Origins of “Color-Blind”…, 57; Segregationist organizing rebranded itself as defending home and community, not white supremacy. — Kevin M. Kruse, White Flight: Atlanta and the Making of…, 131; Open violence destroyed segregationist groups while respectable homeowner politics thrived — Kevin M. Kruse, White Flight: Atlanta and the Making of…, 138 (+11 more)
  • ADDENDUM: Connects to the general mechanism by which white flight communitarian language laundered racial exclusion, parallel to how moral-panic dress codes laundered status anxiety.

Broader Connections