History from p 20 deeds, especially in some of Phoenix’s swankier historic neighborhoods such as Willo or Encanto. Deeds are tied to the land, so such deed restrictions are legally challenging to eradicate, even if they can- not be enforced. The effects of housing dis- crimination linger today. A study last month found Surprise, Peoria, and Gilbert were among the ten worst American cities for minority and low-income lending. In Phoenix, the rate of Black homeownership is 27 percent, compared to 64 percent for white home- owners. As recently as 1957, half of Arizona ho- tels banned Jewish people — a prime target of the Klan. The effects of anti-Semitic leg- islation from a time the Klan ruled the Grand Canyon State with near ubiquity and impunity are still felt, according to Debra Stein, who heads up the Arizona chapter of Jewish Democrats in Scottsdale. “The current Arizona legislature uses antisemitic rhetoric,” Stein said. “It should be of major concern to any Jew.” Her group is concerned that certain state legislators and congressional repre- sentatives are associated with white na- tionalist groups. Often they use the Holocaust to leverage comparisons to cur- rent affairs like the coronavirus pandemic. “Anti-Semitism is deeply entrenched in our politics these days,” Stein said. “Espe- cially in Arizona.” Before statehood and with the Klan on the rise in Arizona, territorial leaders passed a law mandating that Arizona school chil- dren be segregated by race. Klansmen elected to public office ratified that legisla- tion in Maricopa County as they gained po- litical power in the Valley. Less than a year after the Klan was ousted from its blip in the mainstream, Phoenix Union Colored High School opened on East Grant Street in Center City. It was Arizona’s first and only Black high school, replacing tawdry, fundless learning centers and musty basement classrooms in white schools. Phoenix Schools were deseg- regated in 1953, just before the Brown v. Board of Education case in 1954. But it didn’t take Klansmen’s names off the schools. Count the Cost SPLC identified Tempe as a hub for Klan ac- tivity in the state. And although the group that Congress considers a domestic terrorist threat has historically been linked to Phoe- nix and Mesa, unlike Tempe, the parks, streets, schools, and landmarks elsewhere in the Valley have apparently been purged of racist monikers. Phoenix spokesperson Dan Wilson told New Times he wasn’t aware of any tips or suggestions from residents about renaming in the city. Less than a year ago, Robert E. Lee Street and Squaw Peak Drive in Phoenix were renamed Desert Cactus Street and Piestewa Peak Drive to scrub out Confederate and anti-Native links, Wil- son said. It cost the city of Phoenix more than $30,000 to rename that one road. Tempe will need to rename four roads when the project moves forward. Tempe History Mu- seum director Brenda Abney hopes to see the city reimburse businesses and residents for renaming costs. Taking the lead of Phoe- nix when it tapped Desert Cactus Street last year, she also advised against naming the landmarks after specific people. Tempe Ele- mentary School District spokesperson Brit- tany Franklin told New Times there is no plan in place to rename the three schools – Laird School, Hudson Elementary School, and Gililland Middle School. Despite encouragement from the city, Tempe school officials , who have final say over naming, noted they have no intention of stripping Laird School and two others of their Ku Klux Klan namesake at present. But the district’s governing board “calls for an inclusive process in which all stake- holders will have the opportunity to con- tribute input regarding the renaming of facilities if that process takes place,” Frank- lin said. She couldn’t share how much it would cost to rename the schools if the ini- tiative moves forward. A single high school in Texas needed $1.8 million to change its name in 2020. A Vir- ginia high school needed $1 million in 2017. It cost $287,000 to rename each of four sec- ondary schools in Jacksonville, Florida, in 2021. In Houston in 2016, it cost $150,000 to rename each of eight middle and high schools. And three elementary schools in Virginia took half a million dollars to re- name just last year. Despite opposition, Tempe “reserves the right to rename any city facility previously named, if it is determined that it is in the best interest of the community,” thanks to a 2017 resolution. Sears, the NAACP presi- dent, wants to see the project come to frui- tion. Those close to the project say it will — for better or for worse. “They refused to engage me on the sub- ject at all,” said Harelson, who opposes the project. “They’ve already made up their minds.” He believes his grandfather, who was also a member of the Tempe Rotary Club and the Arizona Cotton Growers Associa- tion, was deceived into joining the Klan. The receipt was dated February 6, 1925, as the popularity of the Klan was on the de- cline in Arizona. “At that time, the Klan had big defeats in court and in the ballot box,” Harelson said. “Why would my grandfather willingly join as it was collapsing?” The receipt is issued by C. M. Achauer — the treasurer of both the Klan and the Cotton Growers Association. It was payable to a Baptist church. Activists say it’s high time to consider the hard work and sacrifice needed even for symbolic efforts. King’s oldest son rallied in Phoenix ear- lier this month, reiterating the national cry to tear down monuments honoring those on the wrong side of history. “People have given their lives for these changes,” Sears said. “But there’s always a call for more.” 23 phoenixnewtimes.com | CONTENTS | FEEDBACK | OPINION | NEWS | FEATURE | NIGHT+DAY | CULTURE | FILM | CAFE | MUSIC | PHOENIX NEW TIMES JAN 27TH– FEB 2ND, 2022
