How a Missouri City Confronts Its Segregated Past

There’s much to applaud in the ways Columbia now celebrates its Black heritage. But too much of that celebration is limited to Black residents.

OPINION | August 8, 2025 •

A sign on the window of a shop noting that it is part of the neighborhood known as Sharp End. — A shop near where the author grew up in the Columbia, Mo., neighborhood known as Sharp End. The shop is part of a business incubator located on the street level of a large parking deck that was built after the demolition of the original Sharp End.

The college town of Columbia, Mo., has managed, in part, to transform its segregated past into an opportunity for racial reconciliation, cultural preservation and economic development. That was on full display recently during the quadrennial Black and White Ball Reunion, a weekend of festivities including a parade, picnic and formal gala that celebrates Black heritage and excellence while bringing together alumni of the city’s long-closed all-Black school.

For me, returning to my hometown to attend those festivities was about more than nostalgia — it was a deeply personal journey to not only reconnect with family and friends but to confront some of the ghosts of my past.

Much of the weekend’s activities unfolded in a revitalized 50-block area known as The District — Columbia’s Community Improvement District established in 2011 and bordered by three higher education institutions: the University of Missouri, Stephens College and Columbia College. The district's renaissance is visible: tastefully designed streetscapes, antique-style lighting, upscale restaurants and vibrant music venues all sit within a short walk of the campuses. The physical transformation is undeniable.

I grew up in Sharp End, a historically Black neighborhood in what is now The District. Sharp End had been our corner of the city since the turn of the 20th century, a place carved out of necessity and pride during a time when Columbia was entirely segregated. We couldn’t go to white-owned businesses, couldn’t sit in classrooms with white students and most certainly couldn’t mix socially. We had to create our own spaces — and we did. That’s what Sharp End was: a testament to self-sufficiency under systemic exclusion until the city demolished it in the early 1960s in the name of “urban renewal.” Those of us who lived there knew it was a form of urban removal.

Today, some of that history is being remembered and even honored. The Community Improvement District has incorporated the legacy of Sharp End and included areas like the “projects” — once a troubled but proud Black public housing community — into its vision for redevelopment. A neighborhood once marked by gunfire and disinvestment is now home to a more diverse mix of residents and college students, including not only Blacks but also Hispanics and whites. But while the city has placed historical markers telling the story of a forgotten Black past throughout a heritage trail, it still doesn’t compensate for my childhood memories and losses. And much has been lost: The site of my birth home is now a parking lot.

These days Columbia, like so many cities, struggles with gentrification. As I rode a float down Worley Street during the parade, I saw white families waving from front porches of homes that once belonged to Black families. It was surreal — a disorienting reversal of memory. For all the progress, I couldn’t help but wonder: What did the city get right? And where did it fall short?

One of Columbia’s untapped opportunities lies in elevating the Black and White Ball weekend from a cherished but localized cultural tradition to a unifying citywide celebration. Though the weekend beautifully honors Black heritage and community, its audience remains largely Black. Why hasn’t the entire city embraced it as an occasion for reflection, reconciliation and shared achievement? Why hasn’t it grown into a flagship event that celebrates Columbia’s journey from segregation toward unity? Couldn’t it be used to raise funds for scholarships benefiting the descendants of alumni of Frederick Douglass School, the city’s once all-Black K-12 school that closed in 1960 during integration? The enduring bonds among Douglass alumni are evident: This year’s Black and White Ball sold out within weeks. It’s time the rest of Columbia joined in — not just to remember, but to build something lasting together.

A black-and-white photo of Sharp End businesses before they were demolished in the 1960s. — Businesses line a street in Sharp End before the neighborhood was demolished in the early 1960s. The location is now a city parking lot.

When I asked why the celebration hasn’t become more inclusive, Monique Coats, an African American businesswoman and Columbia native whose parents attended Douglass, offered a poignant explanation: “I don’t see it as a celebration; it’s a preservation, part of the identity of the Black community. People who lived it are trying to preserve it.” I understand her sentiment, but I wonder if it could accomplish both. Can it become a citywide celebration while preserving the heart and soul of its origin? I thought about that as I walked through the park and saw only white police officers on hand, ensuring everyone was safe and had a good time.

My return to Columbia was also about preservation — of memories, of family, of truths. While dining at a fine restaurant in The District, I briefly felt the ghost of past discrimination. I remembered as a boy watching my grandmother ask at a restaurant whether we’d be served inside or from the back window. That was 60 years ago. Now here I was, welcomed without question, eating wild Alaskan halibut bouillabaisse and reflecting on the distance traveled.

Like many American cities, Columbia has made meaningful strides. But the work of justice, equity and reconciliation remains unfinished. Public officials — especially in cities shaped by similar histories — must ask themselves: Are we investing in true restitution or simply engaging in redevelopment? Are we restoring community or just paving over the past? The Black and White Ball Reunion is more than a festive tradition; it’s an imaginative act of remembrance, born from a desire to ensure that the legacy of Douglass School endures. City leaders in Columbia and across the country should see it as a blueprint for how to honor history while building a more inclusive future.

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