When Washington, DC was established as the capital of the United States by the Residency Act of 1790, the city’s framers aimed to build a beacon of democracy for all the world to see. In its role as the federal city, DC was meant to serve as the national symbol for democracy.

In many ways, their vision for the city to serve as a national manifestation of America’s democratic values has come to fruition; even if not exactly as they originally envisioned. Always, the local history of democracy in the District of Columbia has been a fractured one; its promise deeply warped by the nation’s struggle with systemic exclusion and racism.

In fact, if democracy is, at its core, about representation and voting rights, then today’s residents of the District continue to have woefully limited access to full democratic standing. Furthermore, one’s positionality dictates the degree to which individual Washingtonians experience the impacts of the lack of full representation. Depending on an individual’s unique identity, including racial and economic factors, access to democracy certainly looks different.

However, democracy is meant to be not just a form of government, but an accessible vehicle across social classes to achieve stability through choice. As detailed in NCRP’s Cracks in Foundation report and other materials, for Black Washingtonians, the experience of democracy and choice has historically been complicated and often interrupted.

Like many other cities in the United States, today’s demographics and economic—and thus, political—distribution of power in Washington, DC have been shaped by the use of the process of eminent domain in the early 20th century. Eminent domain, coupled with racially restrictive covenants, was used to intentionally create segregated neighborhoods well into the 1960s.

In 1929, this practical cocktail was used to forcibly remove the Black Broad Branch families by the National Capital Planning Commission (NCPC). This is the same process that was used in the neighboring Reno City as it was enveloped into Tenleytown. The area surrounding the Dry Meadows community on Broad Branch Road NW became more densely populated and exclusively white. Large plantations in the upper Northwest, including the Belt estate and that of Horace Jones, were subdivided into single family lots that implemented racial covenants in their deeds.

As the developers attracted more white residents to their new enclaves, the new residents organized and lobbied through white citizens associations for segregated schools. Congress and the local Commission acquiesced and used the process of eminent domain to raze the lots inhabited by Black families on Broad Branch Road NW and developed Lafayette Elementary School, intended to be a white-only school. The interruption of Black place-making and the decoupling of Black communities from choice and self-sufficiency through racially exclusive political processes was repeated in the nation’s capital time after time throughout the 20th century.

In the Dry Meadows community, the Dorsey/Shorters were the last ones to give up their land to the NCPC. Subsequent generations of the Pointer/Harrises (who by then also had the surname Moten) ended up spread out across the rest of the city. Many of them, like the Scott family from the community displaced to make room for today’s Meridian Hill Park (also known as Malcolm X Park), were impacted by eminent domain yet again in future generations.

The interruption of Black placemaking (and choice) is at the crux of how Washington, DC came to be the city we know today. Racialized social norms informed racially exclusive political policies that then created harmful material and economic dynamics in the lives of Black Washingtonians.

Understanding these processes and being transparent about the systems that have resulted from their legacies, is a necessary first step to uproot the inequities that the city is grappling with in the present. It also serves as a microcosm for exploring how the nation as a whole has come to be in the present.

If a shared goal for us is to create a more equitable future, what would it look like for this history to be shared widely and honestly? The end goal should not simply be to cast culpability on victors and declare victims, but rather to understand that regardless of lineage and ancestry, all of us have inherited this shared history. Grappling with it is our shared responsibility.

Read more about healing Black communities in DC by Mariana Barros-Titus at the National Committee for Responsive Philanthropy.