Haints That Root Us: Why We Invest in Black Housing Justice
As a Black girl from North Carolina who loves to read, I’ve always been drawn to haints — restless ghosts or spirits visioned in Gullah/Geechee and southern Black traditions. When these haints are tied to a southern homeplace or desire memory and love, I’m all in. I’m currently reading The Turner House by Angela Flournoy, which centers on a Black family home built by southern migrants Francis and Viola Turner on Detroit’s Eastside. Though they left Arkansas to escape the past, a blue haint follows them to their new home. The haint is seen by their children and, half a century later, reawakened as the family faces a painful decision: what to do with an unaffordable family home in a stigmatized Black neighborhood. As the threat of a short sale — a racialized tool of dispossession — looms, the haint takes on more meaning. It becomes a call to remember, to hold on, and to honor another home and ancestors that refuse to be forgotten.
Like the Turners, we’re living through a housing crisis that stretches across the South, the nation, and the globe. For generations, Black Carolinians have watched our lands and homes be carved up by settlers, speculators, railroads, timber barons, highway commissions, universities, and glossy “uptown” developments. Land projects shaped antebellum land theft, Reconstruction-era massacres and insurrections, post-WWII “urban renewal,” and today’s relentless (re)development. These are the very haints that chased Francis and Viola Turner out of the South and followed them to Yarrow Street. Across generations, the tactics have shifted, but every land grab leaves a shadow — haunting what follows.
Nationally, eminent domain has long been a favored tool of destructive development, rooted in European Enlightenment ideals that fueled empire, domination, and organized violence. In the U.S., the Fifth Amendment allows the government to seize private property through eminent domain if two conditions are met: “just compensation” and “public use.” In reality, Black landowners are often offered insultingly low payouts, and “public use” is shaped by the needs of a public that is overwhelmingly white, wealthy, and well-resourced. In the last two decades, a new force has emerged in this long history of dispossession: private equity. These billionaire-backed global firms operate with surgical precision, buying up private companies or raiding public ones and stripping them for profit. In housing, they target vulnerable homeowners — snapping up properties before foreclosure — and acquire entire rental complexes from student housing to senior living. Once in control, they jack up rents to predatory levels, worsening the very crisis they thrive on.
In the Carolinas, we are in the midst of intersecting housing crises, driven by environmental tourism, tech startups, and university-led (re)development. These forces feed narratives of “booming” cities perfect for transplants and corporations. Under these narratives are the people who have sustained these places for generations and are being pushed out. Across North and South Carolina, Black communities, low-wage workers, elders, disabled residents, and families are struggling not only to afford housing, but to survive.
In South Carolina, someone earning minimum wage ($7.25/hour) must work 86 hours a week just to afford a modest one-bedroom apartment. More than 13,000 public school students—1 in 60—lack stable housing. In North Carolina, those earning under $30,000 a year are left with less than $450 a month after rent and utilities to cover food, childcare, healthcare, and transportation. Meanwhile, homes under $100,000 are vanishing—down nearly 15% each year since 2014 in South Carolina. Lastly, four out of five North Carolina households now earn less than 80% of the state’s median income.
At Cypress, housing and land justice are at the heart of our work — we invest in BIPOC-led organizing that reclaims land, defends housing, and reimagines safety and belonging. We are Black women from and of the Carolinas, shaped by the region’s graveyards and gardens, ancestral struggle, and collective care. Rooted in Black queer feminist values, we see resource redistribution not as charity, but as a principled commitment to those most impacted by systemic oppression.
We also offer a clear alternative to the extractive patterns of traditional philanthropy. For generations, philanthropy has drained Black and Indigenous communities in the Carolinas while offering support to white-led, already-resourced institutions. Even when funding does reach grassroots organizers, it often comes with strings attached — limiting their autonomy, diluting their impact, and delaying their visions for transformation.
Our commitment shows up in deep partnerships with tenant-led organizations across the Carolinas. Our grantee partners are organizing for policy change, tenant power, and fighting to ensure housing is not just available, but dignified and secure. These organizers know that fair housing is only part of the story; true housing justice means the power to stay rooted in your home and community.
In South Carolina, where nearly 90% of Black Americans have ancestral ties, the South Carolina Tenant Union (SCTU) is organizing tenants to resist displacement and demand systemic change. With over 159,000 extremely low-income renter households — 71% of whom spend more than half their income on rent — the need is urgent. As Executive Director Kenni Cummings says, “Our work resonates because it centers the lived experiences of those directly impacted, building power from the ground up.” In North Carolina, the NC Tenants Union (NCTU) is organizing to stop evictions, demand repairs, and resist rent hikes. After Hurricane Helene, NCTU mobilized quickly through trusted relationships to direct resources and advocacy where they were needed most — showing how relational organizing meets both immediate and long-term needs.
When groups like SCTU and NCTU are resourced, they lead. They build power, protect communities, and secure housing rooted in self-determination. At Cypress, we move resources where they’re needed most — into the hands of those driving real change. A just future isn’t a possibility — it’s already taking shape across the Carolinas. Help us fuel it.
If you believe in our vision of a more just and equitable Carolinas, please donate here or contact us at info@cypressfund.org.
Thank you to my colleague, Kayla Bacote, who works directly with our grantee partners on the Programs Team and wrote the spotlight for this blog!
