The Shadows of Urban Renewal: Albina’s Story Comes Into Focus
The city of Portland stands on the threshold of confronting one of its most painful legacies: the forced displacement of nearly 300 Black families from the Albina neighborhood in the name of “urban renewal” from the late 1950s through the 1970s. Albina, once the thriving nucleus of Portland’s Black community, was systematically fractured by discriminatory city policies—policies that were hardly unique to Portland, but whose repercussions still reverberate throughout the city today.
This week, as the Portland City Council prepares to vote on a landmark $2 million settlement, a spotlight is shining on decades of injustice cloaked as progress. According to a federal lawsuit filed in 2022 by the Oregon Law Center for 26 Black descendants, the City of Portland, its economic arm Prosper Portland, and Legacy Emanuel Hospital conspired to raze family homes under the guise of hospital expansion. Thousands of residents, denied just compensation and deprived of their generational wealth, watched as their community was all but erased from the city’s map.
A closer look reveals this wasn’t simply about lost real estate; it was the dismantling of a cultural anchor. The Albina neighborhood of the mid-20th century housed churches, businesses, and civic groups that fostered Black identity and mutual support in a city often hostile to their presence. Today, the emotional impact endures as stories of grandparents’ uprooted gardens and shuttered storefronts echo through the generations.
Restitution and Reckoning: How the Settlement Unfolds
Under the proposed agreement, Portland and Prosper Portland will pay $1 million apiece to the Emanuel Displaced Persons Association 2 (EDPA2), a legal entity representing the families forced from their homes. Far more significant than the monetary sum, however, is the city’s pledge to transfer up to two parcels of land in Central Albina—finally returning property to those from whom it was taken. This isn’t mere symbolism. The plaintiffs will have 120 days to inspect and select the parcels, potentially transforming empty lots or surface parking into new footholds of opportunity and remembrance.
Beyond that, the settlement mandates much-needed representation: at least two descendants will participate on any future Keller Auditorium redesign committee, ensuring community voices are not an afterthought in shaping public spaces. A permanent display in Keller Auditorium, ironically named after a powerful figure in the urban renewal era, will pay tribute to the history and strength of the displaced families. And for ten years, descendants will receive hiring preference for city jobs associated with the renovated venue.
These measures join annual Descendants’ Day celebrations, documentary support, and licenses for plaintiffs to use central city land for community events—an array of gestures intended, if not to heal, then at least to publicly recognize the deep injury done. Analyses by Harvard urban historian Lizabeth Cohen and others affirm that holistic restitution is not just monetary, but about restoring dignity, voice, and presence in spaces from which communities have long been barred.
“No amount of money can make up for the trauma of seeing your family’s home bulldozed or your roots forcibly severed. But returning land and honoring stories moves us closer to justice than silence or excuses ever could.”
Despite these steps, critics argue that a $2 million payment is a pittance compared to the generational wealth lost. According to the Urban Institute, average home values in Albina today far exceed what Black residents received in the 60s—if they received anything at all. The wealth transfer out of Black neighborhoods was not accidental, as city zoning codes and lending practices routinely denied Black families the ability to buy, build, or borrow in the areas outside strictly enforced boundaries.
Reparations, Memory, and the Road Forward
What does restitution look like in a city still haunted by redlining, disinvestment, and the hollowing out of its Black community? Portland’s settlement with the Albina descendants is notable not just for its admissions, but for its ambition to involve the community in shaping its future. Mayor Keith Wilson’s words—“future development bears no resemblance to decisions made 50-plus years ago”—are both a promise and a challenge.
The broader national context can’t be ignored. Only a handful of American cities have undertaken such explicit steps to return land and payment for harm wrought by racist policy. Evanston, Illinois made headlines with its housing-reparation program; Asheville, North Carolina is pursuing community-led investment in Black neighborhoods. Yet the struggle continues: efforts are frequently undermined by half-measures, bureaucratic inertia, or outright resistance from conservative circles crying “reverse discrimination” whenever restorative justice is broached.
What history demonstrates, from Tulsa to Los Angeles, is that the cost of ignoring injustice far exceeds the price of confronting it honestly. Economist Andre Perry of the Brookings Institution emphasizes that America’s racial wealth gap is directly tied to “the legacy of government-mandated property theft.”
You can’t measure the true cost of generational disruption in dollars—nor can you put a number on the psychic toll of exclusion. Yet, in this moment, Portland’s gesture stands as a blueprint for what municipal reparations can try to achieve: a restoration of land, voice, and agency for those Black families whose histories have been bulldozed, literally and figuratively, time and again.
Will this settlement mark the beginning of a deeper reckoning with the systemic racism woven into Portland’s fabric? That will depend on vigilance, creativity, and whether you—whether we all—demand justice that is more than performative or convenient. The city owes its displaced residents not only compensation and ceremony, but a sustained invitation to co-create the Portland of tomorrow.
