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BCSD students invited to design postage stamp for Black History Month

BCSD students invited to design postage stamp for Black History Month

Yahoo12-02-2025
BERKELEY COUNTY, S.C. (WCBD) – The Goose Creek NAACP is inviting Berkeley County School District students to design their own postage stamps to celebrate Black History Month.
Organizers say students can design a commemorative stamp in honor of the contributions of Black Americans and the important events associated with their history.
Students can also submit a poem highlighting a Black American and their contribution to society as another option for the contest. The poem must be original, the work of only one person, and under 75 words.
According to the Goose Creek Cultural Arts Commission, the following must be on the stamp:
USA
48
The name of the person, place or event, and the image
The deadline is set for March 3 at 5 p.m. Submissions can be sent to gcculturalarts@gmail.com
Organizers say submissions will be displayed at the Goose Creek Recreation Center, and winners will be honored at the Goose Creek City Council Meeting on Tuesday, March 11 at 6 p.m.
To learn more about the contest, call 843-695-7215 or email goosecreeknaacp@yahoo.com
Copyright 2025 Nexstar Media, Inc. All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten, or redistributed.
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The heir's property: one man's journey to reclaim family land in the American South
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'The Heir's Property" is an in-depth look at the issue of land passed down through generations, told through the lens of one man's struggle to retain land purchased a century ago by his great-grandfather, who was born into slavery during the Confederacy. Heirs' property is usually defined as land handed down without clear, official documentation. Over the course of the 20th century, Black Americans lost roughly 80% of the property they owned at the peak of ownership a few decades after the Civil War because of theft and systemic injustices. This is the first in a two-part series. It was a hot July afternoon, and Saul Blair stood at the edge of a forest in northern Georgia, watching a pickup truck bounce along a rutted dirt road. Blair is a retired health care executive who wore a suit and tie to work every day, long after everyone else switched to khakis. At one point in his career, as regional director for a national company, his territory − Arizona and part of New Mexico − generated 40% of the revenue for the entire country. On this day, he wore the body armor of a modern weekend warrior: Patagonia sweat-wicking, sun-blocking separates; trail running shoes; bug spray. For all that, the land had gotten under his skin. The property had been purchased by Blair's great-grandfather, John Thomas, Jr., a man born into slavery in 1859 who nonetheless managed the incredible: acquiring more than 300 acres deep in the heart of the Confederacy and dividing it among his 11 children when he died. Blair inherited the plots owned by his mother, Amminita Benson-Blair, who begged Saul on her deathbed in 2010 to 'not lose Grandaddy's land.' He has spent the better part of his retirement − and a lot of time in the years before it − trying to honor that request. How hard could it be to 'not lose' several dozen acres of land? In a nation where the scars of slavery and racialized violence still loom, pretty hard, as it turns out. Researchers estimate that between 1865 and 1910, Black Americans acquired 15 million acres of land. But by 2001, an estimated 80% of it had been lost. 'Lost' can mean several things: sold for pennies on the dollar by ancestors who had no other options, seized in a tax lien sale or foreclosure auction, taken by scammers, held in indefinite legal limbo when succeeding generations have so many part-owners that they can't agree on anything. Blair's records are meticulous and his research extensive. His two parcels of property are held in trust by LLCs he organized. He has an agreement with a program from the U.S. Department of Agriculture and a good relationship with Georgia's state Forestry Commission. He knows about property law, forest management and local history thanks to his yearslong odyssey to make the land his own. 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John Thomas Jr. John Thomas Jr. spent $4,735.60 − about $107,000 in today's dollars − for 306.59 acres of farmland in Rayle, a speck of a town two hours east of Atlanta. When he died, one parcel went to Lizzie Thomas, who later married Alfred Benson. Amminita, Blair's mother, was their daughter. Saul Blair was born in Los Angeles in 1949. He's the middle child, with one older and one younger sister. His father was often absent, and he was gone by the time Saul graduated high school. At age 16, Blair started working in a hospital over spring vacation, filing, pulling patient charts, and doing other clerical work. He stayed on, going to school from morning to midafternoon, then worked at the hospital from about 3 to 11 p.m. He kept up that schedule through four years at UCLA, and when he graduated, he started working at the hospital full time. All told, he spent nearly two decades there. He got married and had three sons. In 1984, a memory tugged at him. 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He found an organization called the Federation of Southern Cooperatives, where an attorney helped him get the title establishing formal ownership of his parcel. With her guidance, Blair also set up the LLC with some of his cousins. His research also led him to McIntosh SEED (Sustainable Environment and Economic Development), a rural community development organization. McIntosh SEED works across the Deep South and views its agricultural work as inseparable from fighting racism. The group helped Blair develop a land management program and connected him to a branch of the USDA called the Natural Resources Conservation Service (NRCS). NRCS's Environmental Quality Incentives Program (EQIP) helps farmers, ranchers and forest landowners work toward cleaner water and air, healthier soil and better conditions for wildlife. 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It was just one example of freed people banding together in a world turned upside down by emancipation. The federal government's few attempts to transition the recently emancipated into the postwar economy were inadequate, historians believe. And life was hard. During the war, the South lost its place as the world's major supplier of cotton, so by 1867, its economy was suffering, even as much of the land had been degraded by the crop itself. Most work available to formerly enslaved people would have involved farming. Sharecropping − akin to indentured servitude − would have been the least appealing. One step up from that was working for someone else, usually a White farmer or plantation owner, for wages. That presented less risk but almost zero autonomy, and working conditions were often not much different from slavery. One step up from 'wage work' was renting your own land, which is how John Thomas started out. It was still risky, but it provided more independence. 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The document that recorded Thomas' land purchase says he had previously rented it. He and others who had been enslaved would have been acutely aware of the importance of owning property, O'Donovan said, in large part from simply observing the race and power dynamics around them: White people owned, Black people did not. The same notions about real estate we accept today − ''It's an asset; you can pass it on to your children; this is how you build wealth" − would have been just as familiar then. 'Generations of African-Americans were not able to build wealth generation by generation, by accumulating property, being able to pay for their kids to go to college, all this stuff,' O'Donovan said. 'That is what makes the middle class the middle class, which makes rich people rich. Yeah, housing is everything.' The plot thickens Of all the mysteries surrounding John Thomas' life, one of the most confounding is how he pulled it off. Blair had long assumed that Thomas had paid cash for the property, and O'Donovan confirmed it's almost unimaginable that a Black man could have found a way to finance the purchase that wouldn't have been so costly as to be prohibitive. But recently, a detail on the purchase documents had caught Blair's attention. Nine years had passed between when the landowners made Thomas a 'bond for title,' whatever that was, and when the official ownership document was filed. Had Thomas paid the White men installments on the property from 1909 to 1918? Blair found either scenario − that a formerly enslaved man could have come up with the equivalent of $100,000 cash, or that he could have trusted a White family to make good on a yearslong agreement in the same community where human beings had only recently been chattel property − equally dubious. In late June, Blair traveled to Georgia with two first cousins. He and Linda Benson, 69, a special-education teacher who lives near him in Mesa, Arizona, spent little time together as children but have become close as adults. Another cousin, Carol Nickelson, is 84 and lives in Manhattan, retired from managerial roles at big companies like Verizon. All are grandchildren of Lizzie Benson, one of John's 11 children. Blair is responsible for two of the original 11 parcels of land: Tract 3, which he manages via an LLC that includes the cousins and other descendants of Lizzie Benson, and Tract 4, which he bought from a distant cousin named Yolande Minor. The purpose of the trip was hiring a logger for the two tracts, but they also took the opportunity to meet family. Blair had wanted to see Minor, but she was in the hospital. Instead, he and Benson had lunch with Ella Barnes and Vivian Gamble, sisters who were also Thomas' great-granddaughters. Barnes and Gamble had their own predicament. Their property had become landlocked. Outsiders had bought up some of Thomas' property to their south, blocking their only access point. And at some time in the past few years, they discovered their tax bills were being sent to, and paid, by someone with no connection to the family, without their knowledge. Over lunch, the sisters asked Benson and Blair to visit the tax office in the Rayles county seat on their behalf to sort out the tax question. As they drove away, the two cousins were perplexed. How could a random stranger be paying the family's taxes? They assumed Ella and Vivian would have to have been delinquent before such a thing could happen. Blair, who's usually good-natured, often half-joked that his inability to hire a logger felt like a 'conspiracy.' Was this another collusion to deprive the family of their inheritance? Coming Sunday: The Heir's Property, Part 2

Heirs' Property And Black Land Loss: A Hidden Threat To Generational Wealth
Heirs' Property And Black Land Loss: A Hidden Threat To Generational Wealth

Black America Web

time17-07-2025

  • Black America Web

Heirs' Property And Black Land Loss: A Hidden Threat To Generational Wealth

Source: skynesher / Getty For many Black American families, land ownership has long represented more than financial security; it symbolizes survival, self-reliance, and freedom. Yet a quiet crisis has steadily eroded Black landownership across generations. That crisis is known as heirs' property, a legal and cultural issue deeply rooted in America's racial history. It could single-handedly diminish Black land wealth if left untreated. To understand how we got here, we must take a look back at history. The origins of this issue date back to Jan. 16, 1865, when Union General William T. Sherman issued Special Field Order No. 15, according to the National League of Cities. This wartime decree temporarily allocated 400,000 acres of land—roughly half the size of Yosemite National Park—to formerly enslaved Black Americans in 40-acre plots. It was a transformative vision for racial justice, later remembered by the phrase '40 acres and a mule.' But the promise was swiftly rescinded after President Lincoln's assassination. President Andrew Johnson reversed the order and returned the land to former Confederate owners. While a small number of Black families managed to purchase land, systemic racism and legal loopholes quickly began chipping away at those gains. Sadly, many did not have the proper documentation in place to protect their family land so that it could be safely passed down throughout generations. Heirs' property, sometimes referred to as 'tangled title' land, occurs when property is passed down informally from generation to generation without a will or formal estate plan. When the original landowner dies without a legal will, the property is inherited equally by all legal heirs. Over time, this can mean dozens of people may claim ownership of a single piece of land, none of whom hold a clear or marketable title. Without this clear title, families cannot sell the land, develop it, use it as collateral for loans, or qualify for many federal assistance programs. Every new generation adds more heirs to the legal tangle, making resolution more difficult. Source: Yuliia Kaveshnikova / Getty The consequences of heirs' property are particularly devastating for Black families. Between 1900 and 2000, Black Americans lost an estimated 80% of the land they had acquired—approximately 14 million acres, according to a 2023 report published by the Union of Concerned Scientists . This includes nearly 90% of farmland once owned by Black farmers. According to the U.S. Department of Agriculture (USDA), heirs' property is the leading cause of involuntary land loss among Black landowners. Land tied up in unresolved ownership cannot be used effectively, and its value is often locked away. Even worse, heirs' property opens the door to partition sales. Because all heirs share ownership of the entire property, any one of them—even someone who inherits a small percentage—can petition the court to force a sale of the whole property, the Union of Concerned Scientists notes. This process is often exploited by outside speculators, who purchase one heir's share and then force a court-ordered auction. These sales often result in properties being sold for far below market value, robbing families of both land and generational wealth. The roots of heirs' property are tangled up in decades of systemic racism and legal exclusion. During the early 20th century, very few Black lawyers practiced in the South, and many white attorneys refused to work with Black clients or actively worked against their interests. As a result, many families did not have access to legal help for writing wills or managing estates. A landmark study in 1980 estimated that 81% of Black landowners at the time did not have a will. Some families avoided the legal system entirely, often out of mistrust rooted in personal or community experience. For many Black landowners, the court system was not a place of justice; it was another venue for exploitation. Some believed that avoiding formal documentation would better protect their property from being taken away, a belief that ironically left their descendants even more vulnerable. The situation was compounded by discrimination at the institutional level. The USDA has a long-documented history of denying loans, grants, and technical assistance to Black farmers. In fact, Lloyd Wright, a former director of civil rights at the USDA, once referred to it as 'the last plantation.' Class-action lawsuits like Pigford v. Glickman and Pigford II acknowledged decades of discrimination against Black farmers between 1981 and 1996. However, even after legal victories, many Black farmers struggled to receive promised payments. A 2023 analysis found that only 36% of Black farmers who applied for USDA loans received them, compared to 72% of white farmers. Heirs' property also locks families out of many federal programs intended to support farmers, homeowners, and landowners. Without proof of a clear title, these families are often ineligible for disaster relief, agricultural subsidies, and other aid, especially in times of crisis. Source: Vladimir Vladimirov / Getty Heirs' property continues to rob Black families of the land and wealth their ancestors fought so hard to gain. However, there are steps families can take to protect their property and preserve their legacy. The first and most important step is estate planning. Creating a legal will or living trust ensures that land passes clearly and intentionally to chosen heirs. According to the Center for Agriculture & Food Systems , a trust is a legal arrangement used to hold and manage assets, including real estate. Establishing a trust can be an effective way to prevent the creation of heirs' property. If you own land in your name, you might consider transferring that land into a trust. Here's how it works: you transfer the ownership of the land into the trust and name yourself as the trustee, meaning you retain control and manage the property. You can also name yourself as the initial beneficiary, allowing you to continue enjoying the benefits of the land during your lifetime. In the trust document, you would designate successor trustees to take over management after your death, as well as successor beneficiaries who will inherit the benefits of the trust. By keeping ownership within the trust, the land does not pass informally through generations. This structure avoids the legal confusion that leads to heirs' property and ensures a clear, organized plan for who will manage and benefit from the land in the future. Working with a lawyer or nonprofit that specializes in trusts and heirs' property can help sort out the legal claims and create a path forward. Families can also benefit from creating family land agreements. These are internal written contracts that outline how the land will be used, maintained, and passed on. 'A family agreement should include everyone's contributions, what they expect in return, and what should happen if the agreement ends,' Compass notes. Establishing clear communication among heirs—no matter how distant—can prevent confusion and conflict later, if it arises. Legal reforms are also underway to protect Black families and vulnerable communities. A growing number of states have adopted the Uniform Partition of Heirs Property Act (UPHPA), which offers legal protections for families by giving co-owners the chance to buy out a potential seller's share and requiring fair market value assessments before sales are allowed. While these laws don't solve every problem, they are an important tool for keeping land in the family. Finally, education and open conversation are essential. Families should talk openly about land ownership, inheritance, and planning for the future. The silence surrounding these topics has, in many cases, allowed the issue of heirs' property to grow unchecked. Heirs' property is not just a legal inconvenience. It is a structural barrier that continues to strip Black families of generational wealth, economic opportunity, and community stability. For Black families, protecting that legacy means reclaiming the promise that was denied generations ago, and ensuring that future generations inherit not just property, but power. SEE MORE: Mindset Of An Entrepreneur: Why Black People Should Consider Homesteading To Create Generational Wealth Altadena Not For Sale: Preserving Black Homeownership SEE ALSO Heirs' Property And Black Land Loss: A Hidden Threat To Generational Wealth was originally published on

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