Hidden deep in the tarnished cement engravings of Abele Quad lies a remarkable, often overlooked piece of Duke’s history. And it’s one you need to know.
It was my move-in day at Duke, and my family had accompanied me to West Campus to bid our final goodbyes. As I stepped onto Abele Quad for only the second time in my life, my eyes grazed across the scene surrounding me: tall trees, lush greenery and gothic architecture that nearly convinced me Hogwarts was real. I glanced down toward my feet, recognizing that my status had changed since my last time standing here — from a Duke hopeful to an official student. This campus was my new home.
Amid my personal epiphany, my attention was diverted toward an engraving in the sidewalk. It said, “Abele Quad [is] named for Julian F. Abele, the African-American architect who, between 1924 and 1950, designed all the surrounding buildings. ‘If you seek his monument, look around.’” Astounded by my ignorance about this crucial piece of Black history at Duke, I was rendered speechless as I read the engraving again.
Directly across from the minuscule cement-engraved recognition of Julian F. Abele lies the statue of James B. Duke, the founder of Duke University and son of a slave owner. So, the next time you’re walking to class, I urge you to stop at Julian Abele’s plaque and acknowledge this: Every beautiful building Duke attributes its notability to was built by a Black man, yet he wasn’t the one immortalized by a statue. Even further, remember that by going to this university, we get to enjoy the fruits of Abele’s labor that he never was able to reap himself due to the era’s deeply segregating Jim Crow laws.
So, why does any of this matter?
As Duke students, we have a moral obligation to recognize and uplift the minority groups that constitute a crucial part of our history and continue to make indispensable contributions to the university today. We are incredibly privileged to attend Duke, and acknowledging that privilege begins with uplifting Black history. As people of America, it is our responsibility to not allow our history of violence against and oppression of Black communities to be swept under the rug.
However, the vestiges of Black history and injustice extend far beyond the confines of West Campus. Duke continues to afflict Black communities, whether it be by minimally recognizing Julian Abele or gentrifying Durham and displacing many of the Black residents who predominantly reside in its lower-income areas.
Here’s the even bigger problem with Duke’s surface-level recognition of Julian Abele’s work: this is not the first time Black history has been hardly recognized or erased, and it is certainly not the last. If people are barely aware of the Black history at Duke — an educational institution that was quite literally designed by an African-American man and is located in a city with a substantive Black population — what does that say about the general awareness of this issue throughout the rest of America?
Did you know that the murder of Black people was considered the norm from 1877 to 1950 in the South? Let me put this into perspective for you: More than 4,000 racial terror lynchings occurred in Southern states within the given time period — the same time Julian Abele was designing Duke. These were heinous, barbaric murders of Black people — mostly by white mobs — where just about anything warranted murder. Interracial sex, accusation of a crime, casual social interactions, walking into a room with white women, not calling a white man by his correct title — lynching occurred for just about any reason and was used as a fear tactic to oppress Black people. While lynching itself wasn’t legal, its unwritten laws allowed the white murderers of 150 Black people in a courthouse to face no legal repercussions. Similarly, anti-lynching legislation was consistently shut down at the federal level because lynching disproportionately impacted Black people, so passing laws to end the cruel murder of these individuals would be condemned as “racial favoritism” by white policymakers.
Let me reiterate: Preventing the heinous murder of thousands of Black Americans was considered “favoritism.”
So, why are these crucial events in America’s past hardly mentioned in school? Why is the extensive history of lynchings in America reduced to one lesson on Emmett Till? The answer lies in one recurring issue. Whether it be in the minimal recognition of Julian Abele’s work or America’s indelible history of lynching, Black history is consistently undervalued or stripped from education entirely. This is an incredibly dangerous reality. How are we to create equitable policies, dismantle white supremacy-infiltrated systems and prevent historic recurrence when our common understanding of Black history is superficial, based only on the cursory teachings of the K-12 education system?
As much as I believe that the rectification of this issue is long overdue, the erasure of Black history still lingers in modern society, clouding our collective understanding of America’s past. In an appalling, discriminatory trend, eighteen states have implemented “anti-Critical Race Theory” laws that hinder lessons on race and racism in the United States. In a similar Black history-erasing fashion, the word “diversity” is banned in Georgia public schools and the course AP African American Studies is banned in Florida. These modern examples of history erasure deprive students of crucial knowledge about Black history while simultaneously refusing to recognize the invaluable contributions of Black individuals to society.
Above all, violence against and oppression of Black communities did not end with lynchings in the 50s. It continues to manifest today as unjustified acts of police brutality against unarmed Black persons, the mass incarceration of Black people and the gentrification of predominantly Black neighborhoods. Black people quite literally must fight for the value of their lives to be recognized by our society through movements like Black Lives Matter, demonstrating that Black history awareness is more critical than ever.
Writing this from the perspective of a white person, I recognize that my skin color grants me a certain privilege that limits my ability to fully understand the experiences of people of color. However, I will not allow my privileged position to foster indifference. Instead, I would like it to serve as a catalyst for advocacy.
Black children often receive lessons on the history of slavery and the necessity of caution in the presence of law enforcement by their parents. For this reason, I write about Black history awareness, because if people of color aren’t afforded the luxury of ignoring history, then white people should not be either.
To ensure that the truth of Black history does not continue on its current path of censorship and erasure, we must resurrect forgotten narratives and histories. By advocating for Black history-inclusive curricula, celebrating Black History Month proudly, expanding our breadth of knowledge on Black history and voting for diversity-supporting legislators, we can fight the cycle of suppression and whitewashed history.
The next time you go to the polls, recognize the devastating impacts of voting for legislators who expunge history. When you take a walk through Abele Quad, remember who designed the ground you’re standing on. And most importantly, educate yourself on Black history because the K-12 education system certainly didn’t do it for you.
Bella Naspinski is a Trinity first-year. Her column typically runs on alternate Tuesdays.
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