The government has apologized for razing the Black community, but former residents and their descendants are still trying to find peace

For more than a century, the community of Africville thrived on the shores of Nova Scotia’s Bedford Basin, despite deliberate government neglect that forced residents into poor living conditions.

One of those residents was Beatrice Wilkins, co-founder of the Africville Genealogy Society and board member of the Africville Heritage Trust Museum. Today, she continues to fight to get justice for the families of those who lost their homes when the City of Halifax razed Africville.

Before they destroyed the community, Halifax municipal officials subjected it to ongoing discrimination. “We lived in Africville, despite all the crap they gave us,” Wilkins says. “I witnessed a slaughterhouse and then they built an abattoir and then we had an incinerator and a dump. Anything (the city) didn’t want, they gave it to Africville. When we were kids growing up, we were seen and not heard.”

When residents, including Wilkins and her family, begged Halifax to give them the same services and protections white neighbourhoods got, government ignored their pleas.

Wilkins says many of the homes dated back to the 1800s and needed renovations; being all-wood construction, they were fi re prone. In 1948, Halifax officials told Africville its water was unsafe  — but neglected to give  them an alternative.

“They put signs out there that said to boil the water,” she says. “That was a lie because I drank that water all my life and I’m still here. We boiled our water to cook, have a weekly bath, and to do our clothes. We looked after our wells.”

Lindell Smith is the first Black person elected to Halifax Regional Council since 2000. “I have to hold some accountability for how we honour the past,” he says.

Officials promised a new water system, but never delivered.

And when trouble arose, Africville was on its own. When there were house fi res, the community fought them because emergency services wouldn’t attend. “The community lined up and handed the buckets of water to put the fi re out, but it wasn’t enough people, water, or wells,” says Wilkins. “And the fi re department would not come out.”

Neither would other emergency services. Police simply didn’t come when residents needed help. When Wilkins’s mother went into labour with the last of her 15 children in 1957, she knew no first responders would come to her address. Instead, she gave birth at home, cut the umbilical cord, dressed, and walked down a hill, over a little brook, and across five sets of railroad tracks to flag down a police car to take her and the newborn to Grace Maternity Hospital.

Despite the hardships that the residents experienced, Wilkins takes immense pride in her community’s strength and resilience.

“It was awful what they did to us in Africville because we were a vibrant community,” she says. “We all got along. We had stores, post office, church, and we had no policing ... The church was the focal point of the community. We settled everything our-selves ... We didn’t see police come take this one or that one off to jail.”

In 1964, the City of Halifax decided to destroy Africville and remove its residents. Politicians claimed it was to give them a better quality of life and build community infrastructure. They never asked the people what they want-ed, and didn’t listen when the citizens of Africville tried to tell them.

A historic sign reminds people that the Africville water was deemed unsafe for drinking, but government of the time failed to offer solutions.

“The community ran the community — people ran businesses, our church and stores,” she says. “They were businesspeople, our foremothers and fathers. There’s a clip of this man cry-ing ‘Why do I have to leave my home? Why do I have to leave Africville?’”

To compensate for the loss of property or houses, the city agreed to give equal value to residents who had proof of ownership. People who couldn’t produce the paperwork only got $500, even if their families lived there for generations. Municipal workers destroyed all homes in Africville by 1970.

“They gave those people nothing for their properties,” Wilkins says. “There are 23 deeds or so out there. The city was able to convince them that it was not safe to be there. As soon as the house was empty, they bulldozed it.”

It wasn’t enough to make a down payment or cover more than a couple months in a new rental. And losing their community fabric left many unable to find work, facing discrimination in white neighbourhoods. Without common spaces like the Africville church, many felt lost.

Halifax Regional Municipality formally apologized in 2010. Although there was an apology, it didn’t address the United Nations’s 2004 recommendation that Canada pay reparations to make amends for citizens’ hardships. The highlight of the settlement was government providing land and $3 million to build a new Africville church.

For Wilkins, the contrition has a tang of too little, too late.

“The worst thing about the apology was that the seniors weren’t here to hear it,” she says. “They wanted to be apologized to and they weren’t here to hear it ... The people who apologized were not the people involved. They weren’t born, not even around and they’re apologizing for something that somebody did.”

Lindell Smith, the first Black person elected to Halifax Regional Council since 2000, says government had no business uprooting Africville. It’s the most egregious example of the racism that still affects Black communities and he feels responsible to use his power to do better for the community.

“The community was already thriving and flourishing on its own,” he says. “It’s important because it’s part of our history and part of the racism that happened in our city ... I have to hold some accountability for how we honour the past.”

The 2010 apology predates his time in office, but Smith says as an elected official, he is part of what government did and understands the frustration Wilkins feels.

“There is a role for current politicians and policymakers to take owner-ship of what has happened in the past,” he adds. “I can understand where she’s coming from; the fact that she lived it and is able to touch and feel what happened to her at that time … If some-thing happened to me, I’d want an apology from the person who did it.”

In 2021, Smith tabled a motion to establish a visioning process for Africville. It comes after years of advocacy from descendants and the community.

“Everyone had the same vision of the betterment of Africville, but we were seeing that a lot of groups were just not connected,” he says. “I think there’s a better way we can do some-thing that’s a cohesive process.”

Smith aims to have the community steer the process.

“Africville was a perfect example where we thought what was best was actually not best for the community,” says Smith, adding he has his own ties to Africville. “Being from East Preston/North Preston — all those communities have a connection. There is that aspect of being Black Nova Scotian, family roots into the Black communities.

As a politician, it’s a community that I represent but it’s also a community that has seen wrongs … I just hope I can add some value to trying to rectify what I can for the future.”

And for Wilkins, the fight goes on. Standing up for the community is how she heals.

“The scars that were made, remain through our children,” she says. “We are living survivors, descendants now of Africville. Most of our seniors have passed and there’s not too many left.”

To bring the community together and keep the stories and memories alive, Wilkins co-founded the Africville Genealogy Society in 1983. Her vision for the future included a community that is thriving and the creation of an interpretative centre and gathering spot for about 350 people.

The ministers invited to preach would be people who either knew or studied Africville, plus there would be traditional food to reflect the community’s heritage. “When you came to Africville, you knocked on the door and we fed you,” Wilkins says. “You never went away hungry, and you were safe in Africville.”

2023 marks the Africville Genealogical Society’s 40th anniversary and Wilkins is planning commemorations. “We are doing a reunion picnic,” she says, adding it will run over 10 days with kids’ activities, community meals, and a dance.

And as he tries to make things right, Smith is clear that the HRM government is on a deadline.

“I do hope that ... the descendants or the former residents who are still here today can at least know that there’s some kind of process happening for their children and grandchildren,” he says. “We’re losing folks all the time ... It’s getting to a point where former residents are no longer going to be with us. We hope that some of them can be there to celebrate something new in the future.”