They were children when their families' homes in Palm Springs were demolished and burned as part of the systematic destruction of a community. They are now 60 or older and their loss is finally being recognized.
The mostly black and Latino families affected had found shelter on a 1-square-mile plot of land known as Section 14. Located next to downtown Palm Springs, the land is owned by the Agua Caliente Band of Cahuilla Indians, but the The federal government had prohibited them from renting it long term. Instead, from the 1930s through the 1960s, the tribe rented plots to people with few housing options, particularly black and Latino residents who worked in the city as housekeepers, carpenters, gardeners and more, but were prevented living in most of Palm Springs due to discriminatory measures. housing practices.
Public services were scarce in Section 14 and residents often built their own modest homes. Although they did not own the land beneath, they created a community.
Until they ripped it off. What the city characterized as “slum clearance” in the 1950s and 1960s forced residents to flee their homes with only weeks or days of notice, or sometimes no warning at all. A 1968 state report called it “a city-engineered holocaust.”
Now, decades later, the city of Palm Springs has offered hundreds of survivors a $5.9 million settlement. Although it comes late for the surviving victims, who are now between 60 and 90 years old, the recognition that they were traumatized and that their homes were burned, often with their belongings inside, is fair.
And it's particularly laudable at a time when righting past racial injustices is unfashionable. Gone is the long-awaited national soul-searching after the 2020 killing of George Floyd at the hands of a police officer, which sparked efforts to diversify workplaces and the entertainment industry and apologies for past racist mistakes, including one in Los Angeles. Times.
In 2022, Los Angeles County officials returned a Manhattan Beach property known as Bruce's Beach to the family of the black couple who fled the land nearly a century earlier. But an ambitious California task force on slavery reparations met a lukewarm response in the state Legislature.
That is why it is noteworthy that the city of Palm Springs has taken a step forward like few cities in the country. Even the last two known survivors of the horrific 1921 Tulsa Race Massacre, both more than 100 years old, saw their reparations cases rejected by the Oklahoma Supreme Court this year.
Like Tulsa, the Palm Springs case concerns people who lost homes and possessions long ago. It is estimated that between 300 and 350 Section 14 survivors can present proof of residency there.
This was a long battle. The survivors and descendants formed a nonprofit organization and have been advocating for reparations for years. Areva Martin, their attorney, took up the case in 2022, publicizing the plight of displaced residents and filing a lawsuit against the city. Officials decided to resolve the case.
“Cash restitution is incredibly difficult,” Martin said. “That's what makes this so historic. “There aren't many examples.”
Martin noted that although his clients never owned the land, their claim was always about the “destruction of their structures and the contents within the structures.”
Additionally, as part of the agreement's broader initiatives, the city agreed to designate $20 million for housing programs to assist first-time homebuyers in Palm Springs and establish a community land trust for low-income residents, prioritizing to former residents of Section 14 and their descendants. Additionally, $1 million will be set aside for grants and low-interest loans to help small businesses in disadvantaged communities, with dedicated outreach to former Section 14 residents and their descendants. And the council agreed to recognize a day of remembrance of Section 14 residents' contributions to Palm Springs.
The city apologized to the survivors three years ago. For some of them, the deal is about more than just money.
“It is a victory in the sense that our history will be cemented,” said Pearl Devers, 74, who heads the survivors' nonprofit's board of directors.
The money arrives late to most survivors, so the city must ensure that it is disbursed relatively quickly. The nonprofit survivor group, with the help of experts, will determine how it is awarded. His attorney says no one should assume it will be divided equally among former residents, which would amount to less than $20,000 each.
Is it enough to compensate for the malicious destruction of the homes and belongings of hundreds of people?
“There's no amount of money that can pay for the damages,” said Alvin Taylor, 71, Devers' brother. “I can only say that making an effort… is a step forward. Even if it may not fully address the historical impact of what occurred.
“He says, 'We really apologize.' “
