From Little Jamaica to Africville and Hogan’s Alley: Canada’s Attempts at Black Community Erasure
Matilda Newman’s store in Africville, 1964. Local businesses were demolished during the relocation.
Photo: Library and Archives Canada, Ted Grant, e00228300
I grew up in Little Jamaica – a vibrant community in Toronto that runs along Eglinton Avenue West from Keele Street to Marlee Avenue. As a child, my stepmother often sent me to run errands in the neighbourhood. “Guh down a Winston fi mi,” she would say, then hand me a list of grocery items to pick up. At the time, Winston’s West Indian Market was located near Dufferin Street and Eglinton Avenue West. On any given day, you would hear the sweet melodies of a Gregory Isaacs tape flowing from the small shop and out onto the busy street. Whenever I visited, Winston would greet me with a warm smile and direct me to the items on my list. At the register, he would slip in a free beef patty and coco bread, which I thanked him for and enjoyed on my walk back home.
This was the community where I experienced my childhood and adolescence. I remember telling Jamaican barbers to “clean the sides and low the top” as directed by my father. I remember sitting in chairs at Dudley’s hair salon while my eldest sister got her hair done. I remember walking by Jaydees clothing store, eyeing the name brands behind the glass, and wishing that I could cop one of the Jordan sneakers or fitted hats from off the shelves.
Growing up in a community where Black-Caribbean and Black-African cultures are represented and celebrated helped affirm my identity as a child. I never felt out of place in my neighbourhood because I saw people who looked like me and who spoke the same patois that was spoken inside my home. The threat of demolition currently looms over the community of Little Jamaica, as the city of Toronto seeks to expand the Eglinton Crosstown light-rail transit (LRT). When we contextualize Canada’s development as a nation, we can see that the threat of demolition aligns with the country’s larger colonial project that seeks to destroy Indigenous lands while erasing Black people and communities.
The process of Black community erasure in Canada is not new. An example is Africville, the community of Black-Canadians that was formed in the mid 18th century by formerly enslaved people and free Black people in Nova Scotia. As a result of overt anti-Blackness, Black people in Nova Scotia were forced to settle on the outskirts of Halifax where they built their own homes, churches and schools. The community was denied access to clean running water, proper sewage, public transportation, garbage disposal services, and paved roads. Government neglect was fueled by anti-Black stereotypes that constructed Black people as ghetto, uncivilized and undeserving of care.
In 1962, the Halifax City Council used the rhetoric of “neighbourhood revitalization” to justify demolishing the community. Africville was destroyed by bulldozers, and its land was appropriated to further industrialization in Halifax. Moreover, Black residents were pushed out and forced to relocate to other neighbourhoods in the city. In 2011, as a result of pressure from the community, the city of Halifax apologized for the demolition and restored the Africville name to the Seaview Park, which had been constructed after the demolition. The community was given $4.5 million dollars and one hectare of land in compensation, and the Seaview Baptist Church was rebuilt. Though necessary, this compensation and apology do not heal the decades of trauma and displacement that resulted from the demolition project.
The practice of destroying Black communities under the pretense of “urban development and renewal” continued beyond Africville. For example, Hogan’s Alley was a thriving Black community formed in Vancouver in the early 1900s and served as a cultural hub for African-American jazz artists when they visited the city for performances. At its peak, the community was home to about 800 Black residents and was known for its Black-owned restaurants, speakeasies, and the African Methodist Episcopal Fountain Chapel. The community was also located near the railway stations where many Black men worked as sleeping car porters. In 1970, Hogan’s Alley was demolished by the city of Vancouver to build a freeway that aligned with the city’s plans for urban redevelopment.
Like Africville and Hogan’s Alley, we see the same attempts to erase Black communities happening today in the case of Little Jamaica. In April of this year, the City Council of Toronto passed a motion to study the neighbourhood of Little Jamaica through community consultations to become an official Heritage Conservation District. This appeared as a win, as becoming an official Heritage Conservation District would protect the community from future demolition projects while preserving and celebrating its Jamaican and Afro-Caribbean identity. However, months following this motion, the city council went back to its initial proposal for Little Jamaica to become Toronto’s first cultural district— a title still yet to be fully defined.
I'm still angry about Little Jamaica not getting a Heritage district. Little Jamaica being designated as a Cultural district when that literally means nothing is a slap in the face.
— Jermaine Jupiter | Career Coach & Tech Recruiter (@JermaineJupiter) March 22, 2021
I grew up in Little Jamaica and wouldn't have it any other way. Making up a "cultural district" term instead of declaring it a heritage district is total BS. It's basically them saying "you're cool, but we still want to demolish you and replace you with condos when the LRT opens" https://t.co/RXMZXsqLrG
— Jeff Veillette (@JeffVeillette) March 10, 2021
I currently reside in Toronto in a neighbourhood where the threat of gentrification is hypervisible. I see the renovations happening in the units in my building. I notice the new tiles and paintings in the lobby. I wake up to the constant sounds of drilling as workers repave the driveway and parking lot. On some days, I watch as workers install glass balconies on the building next to mine. As I witness these things, I can’t help but wonder: who are they developing the neighbourhood for? Is it for us? The Black people who have been living here for decades? Or are they preparing for a new demographic to move in? A whiter demographic, maybe? I ask these questions to myself, but deep down, I already know the answer. Rent prices are going up, and Black folks are being evicted from their homes in the midst of a pandemic. Business continues as usual.