A deeply unsettling controversy has gripped Tallahassee, Florida, as plans to sell a city-owned golf course, the Capital City Country Club, are met with fierce opposition. The land, once a sprawling cotton plantation, conceals the unmarked graves of enslaved individuals, forcing a community reckoning with its segregated history and the dignity of its forgotten dead.
In Florida’s capital city, the manicured greens of the Capital City Country Club hide a dark and painful past, now brought to the surface by a controversial proposal. City officials are considering selling the publicly-owned golf course, a site where archaeologists have identified the burial grounds of enslaved people, sparking widespread outrage and calls for a public reckoning.
A History Unearthed: From Plantation to Private Club
The land beneath the country club was once a sprawling cotton plantation, a stark reminder of Florida’s slave-holding past. The evidence of this history lies literally beneath the surface, with archaeologists from the National Park Service identifying 23 unmarked graves and 14 possible graves near the 7th hole. These graves belong to enslaved individuals who lived and died on the plantation, their final resting places long forgotten until recently.
This discovery highlights a national crisis, as thousands of unmarked and neglected cemeteries of enslaved people across the country are at risk of being lost to development and indifference. The National Park Service plays a crucial role in documenting and preserving these historically significant sites, providing guidelines and support for communities grappling with such discoveries, as outlined by their preservation initiatives on African American burial grounds, according to the National Park Service.
The Capital City Country Club itself has a history deeply intertwined with racial segregation. Since 1956, the club has paid a nominal $1 a year in rent for the city-owned land. This lease was put in place when the club reverted to private ownership, a move designed to bypass a U.S. Supreme Court ruling that prohibited the segregation of public parks and recreational facilities. One former club member, whose nomination to the nation’s highest court failed due to questions about his role in privatizing the club, underscores the racial motivations behind this historical maneuver.
The Outcry: “Willing to Sell Them Again”
The city’s recent proposal to sell the 178-acre golf course for $1.25 million to the country club—with conditions to maintain it as an 18-hole golf course and allow a commemorative site—has ignited fierce opposition. Residents crowded City Hall chambers, prompting the commission to postpone the issue.
The prospect of selling land that includes these sacred burial grounds is seen as an profound insult. Local activist Delaitre Hollinger, whose ancestors were enslaved in Leon County, articulated the deep pain this proposal represents: “They were sold on the auction blocks of Leon County, and now we are willing to sell them again.” This powerful statement highlights the historical trauma and the community’s refusal to allow another act of disrespect to the enslaved.
Leon County holds significant historical weight as the epicenter of Florida’s slavery economy. On the eve of the Civil War, three out of every four residents in the county were human chattel, owned by elite white families, as documented in historical archives like those maintained by the State Archives of Florida. Despite this grim reality and the numerous plantations that once dominated the area, only a handful of slave burial sites are currently known, underscoring the urgent need for preservation and identification efforts.
A Call for Reckoning and Remembrance
The outrage extends beyond the proposed sale to the city’s perceived inaction. More than four years ago, the Tallahassee City Commission approved plans to create a commemorative site to preserve and protect the graves. Yet, no such memorial has been built. City administrators have blamed delays on negotiations and damaging tornadoes in 2024, but residents and some commissioners question the prolonged dormancy.
Tifany Hill, a Tallahassee resident whose family maintains a historic Black cemetery, voiced the enduring questions surrounding the identities of those interred: “We know they were enslaved. But who were they?” Hill emphasized the personal connection, stating, “It’s our history. It could be my ancestor that’s in there.”
Kathleen Powers Conti, a Florida State University history professor specializing in the preservation of sites of trauma, decried the city’s approach. She expressed her shock that neither the country club nor the city commission has actively sought to find the descendants of the buried individuals. Conti’s powerful observation highlights a critical missing piece in the conversation: the direct involvement and acknowledgment of those most impacted by this history.
The Path Forward: Dignity in Life and Death
For advocates like Hill, Hollinger, and Conti, the people buried beneath the golf course have been denied dignity for far too long, both in life and in death. The current controversy serves as a crucial opportunity for Tallahassee to confront its past, honor its forgotten ancestors, and commit to true historical preservation.
The community’s demands for a public reckoning include:
- Identification of Descendants: Proactive efforts to locate and engage the living descendants of those buried at the site.
- Permanent Commemoration: The construction and maintenance of a meaningful commemorative site with guaranteed public access.
- Historical Education: Opportunities to educate the public about Florida’s slavery economy and the lives of the enslaved.
- Rejection of the Sale: The city to reconsider the sale and explore alternative models for managing the land that prioritize historical and social justice.
The decision facing the Tallahassee City Commission is not merely about real estate; it is a profound choice about how a community chooses to honor its past, address its historical wrongs, and safeguard the dignity of those whose lives and deaths shaped its very foundations.
