Plantation. No matter the location, the word added to any conversation has weight, and with good reason. Plantations were known to be death camps for thousands of Africans, ripped from their homeland and as recent reports would have us now know, plantation prisoners were also indigenous people of color robbed of their freedom and condemned to a life of brutal servitude and hard labor. Yes, we know the stories, but with new found hope my family set out to turn plantations into villages.
Following my resignation as a council woman in Miami, Florida and on my return to Georgia, I’d started searching multi-family properties. At one point in time, all of my sisters resided in or near Atlanta. Though a couple of them had moved back to Florida, I was hopeful of convincing my remaining family members that a home big enough to house cousins, siblings and even grandkids would be a worthwhile investment. I’d actually gotten the idea when visiting various communities and taking notes not only for my employer at the time, who was a developer, but also while participating in many talk back sessions and town hall meetings. Housing was the cry, and at church venue meetings, it was indeed the prayer.
The housing insecurity and cycles of eviction and displacement seemed to be very consistent no matter what community I lived in but assuredly, it struck African Americans the hardest. So much so that when I decided to move back to Atlanta and the searches presented plantations as ideal multi-family properties, I didn’t shudder at the thought of this. If rent was legitimately one of the main stumbling blocks of building generational wealth and housing had been a weaponized tool since the emancipation of slavery, then why not plantations for housing? Why not take these beautiful structures that had once been used as a symbol of wealth and opulence and lead them to be transitioned to homes for generations of descendants of people that were exploited as property to build them. Though this seemed to be an obvious ‘poetic justice’ to me, I soon found out how incredibly offended some people were with this plantation pursuit.
Son of author at Smithonia. Photo by Mike Powell
The first time I realized how much insight I lacked regarding this idea was during a round-up with potential investors at my first attempt to put The Smithonia Plantation near Athens, Georgia, under contract. Through my YouTube channel, I’d gathered names and numbers of a few people that supported revolutionary endeavors, it was Atlanta after all! But at this meeting the very first complaint was my eagerness expressed at the idea of living on a plantation. “You seem kinda too happy to be living in a place of torture,” said the younger man, about 27 years of age. ‘I mean, you gotta let people kind of know you care about the ancestors.” I honestly had not thought of myself as being inconsiderate, but after the meeting wrapped with no one committing any assistance from the initial meeting, I did have to revisit this notion. I started to dig deeper and committed to getting my finances in order so I could go see this plantation and really flesh out the vision with care and consideration. I began researching heirs properties and the practice of farmland robbery. Interestingly enough, I found great help due to The Amistad Project at Tulane University and a coordinator by the name of Courtney Tutt. I also made a connection with Tamara Johnson-Shealey, a former candidate for Georgia State senate, published author, beautician and current licensed mediator. She had included reparations as her main platform in her run for office, which I found bold and inspiring. She assured me that my dream was for me and though it was necessary for me to be able to communicate my vision well, the only approval I needed was from God almighty.
Author and Ashley Scott. Photo by Davon D. Doss
With a new appreciation and understanding of the depth of my dream, I set out to meet with a group that also took an incredible leap of faith— The Freedom Georgia Initiative. At the top of covid Ashley Scott organized 19 families consisting of some friends, co workers and cousins to purchase 500 acres of raw land in Toomsboro, Georgia. Though my ultimate plan was to activate my food business at the plantation site, Ashley’s passion gave my vision a new angle—of truly pioneering a village revolution.
On October 5, 2022 my husband and I put the Smithonia Plantation under contract with $13,000. Even though we only had about two months to close, we were optimistic and set out on several social-media geared campaigns to help raise awareness and funds for this purchase. At this point, we had the first family, US, confirmed for this village but we were still seeking several other families to help us occupy this majestic estate sprawling across about 16 acres. Despite valiant efforts and leading several tours of the property complete with photo shoots and an impressive powerpoint and commercial, the day after MLK Day we came to the harsh realization we were not going to be able to close on the $1.2 million dollar estate. One of the hardest things I ever had to do was look at my children and tell them that we were not going to be moving in. For two years my daughter planned to move into the downstairs massive bedroom that boasted a full fireplace and clawfoot bathtub.
Author climbing staircase Photo by Kings Eye Photography
We would not be hosting engagements and healing retreats or ascending the stairwell that was lined with a handmade banister from ax handles by a 90-year-old leased convict in the labor camp. (This practice continued even as slavery was banned.) And we were now unable, unavailable to tell this story as we led wondrous eyes amongst the wings and halls of this massive ‘big house’.
We were not going to be guiding groups of inquiring minds of school-aged children and answering questions of various cafe attendants as we lined the tables with fresh fare yielded from the very trees growing on these acres, our acres, from seeds that were planted by hands that resembled my husband’s and son’s and dad’s and brother’s.
Nearly 200 years after its erection we were robbed of this monumental moment, yet again. For years no one of African American descent could even own The Smithonia and now we were here with a canceled contract and the sad fact setting in that we didn’t have enough money to truly own it.
The journey that ensued next, though harrowing as we spent the next six months living in a hotel and our car, as we were in a new city with no family, friends or co-workers to lean on or reside with, does not compare to the longing feeling that creeps in some days. Even though as we reside now on a different 90+ acre property, without the reality of ownership, we are still living a dream deferred while holding on to visions of a village where plantations once stood.
Author: CourtneyOmega Doss, self diagnosed foodie, mom of two and former councilwoman — is a published author, part time culture commentator, full time wife and all time believer! Born in Daytona Beach, Fl (the last of 5 children) to social workers, she boasts she never attended a prom but protests were routine. An alumn of Florida A&M University, she joined her previous siblings as a HBCU fan and appreciated the dynamic of a dual college experience at Florida State University too. CourtneyOmega has worn many hats since graduating with a Bachelor of Science in Communications with a concentration on public relations. From Philly to Miami and Arizona to North Carolina, she has learned the culture and vibes of small quaint communities, bustling cities and creative enclaves of different classes. Her legal pursuits and experiences have helped prepare her for the journey her family is starting to become plantation owners, revolutionizing the housing industry by being the catalyst for reparations using plantation and historical properties to create intergenerational villages. FIND housing https://p4r.today and here. FIGHT hunger https://coloredonly.cafe
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