Like many who moved to this remote island on the southeastern U.S. coast, Mike Hubbard, a retired Virginia farmer, has had to reconsider what constitutes “normal” life.
There is no bridge to the mainland. No grocery store. No post office.
But those are minor inconveniences, he says, compared with what he and others deem a bigger problem: The Beaufort County Board of Commissioners, which collects taxes and dictates island services, begins its monthly meetings on the mainland too late for Daufuskie residents to attend. The group convenes after the last county-funded ferry to the island has departed.
Why We Wrote This
Debating forms of government on a remote island is not just about local self-rule. It’s also about managing gentrification and respecting local input in a place where culture and history matter.
Looking to resolve long-standing concerns about the treatment of islanders by a faraway government, Mr. Hubbard is now an advocate for change in Daufuskie – a jewel in the necklace of Lowcountry island communities shaped by descendants of enslaved people. He wants it to become an independent town.
“Incorporation isn’t to get away from Beaufort County as much as it is to determine our own destiny,” says Mr. Hubbard, who serves on the advisory Daufuskie Island Council. With no easy way to attend meetings, he adds, “it’s hard for us to participate in the political process.”
But the question of how to thoughtfully transform a historic island into a functioning town is not just about the self-determination of small places. It is also increasingly about fighting gentrification and trying to maintain control in the face of mounting pressure from developers to bulldoze traditional bungalows to make way for retiree condos for those migrating from colder climates. (South Carolina had a nearly 11% population increase between 2010 and 2020).
The United States has approximately 6,500 small towns – communities that opt to assume the costs of municipal services, such as police and solid waste, and have fewer than 500 residents, according to the U.S. Census Bureau.
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Thousands of other small communities – estimates range from one-third to two-thirds of the U.S. population – prefer to remain in unincorporated areas. They rely on local county governments to avoid higher taxes and additional layers of regulation, and to maintain a rural lifestyle and community independence.
On Daufuskie, the question of who is responsible for preserving local culture is particularly significant, given its historic legacy as a home for the Gullah Geechee, descendants of enslaved people originally from western and central Africa. Sallie Ann Robinson, a Gullah Geechee whose ancestors have overseen Daufuskie’s life and culture for centuries, insists incorporation “can’t move ahead without significant protections” for her people.
Those protections are primarily about who controls South Carolina’s coveted coast – significant chunks of which are owned by descendants of enslaved people who trace their family trees to the Gullah Geechee Corridor in the state’s Lowcountry.
Though enslaved people were usually barred from owning property, after the Civil War ended, many former slaves began purchasing small plots to either farm or fish. As the state gained popularity in recent years among those seeking warmer climates and lower taxes, property values – especially along the coast – have skyrocketed.
But protections also involve matters of culture. Some newcomers acknowledge race and class inequities in their new home, but they might also have different perceptions about if – and how – to address those issues. The island is already divided by gates that separate the wealthy from working-class and retired locals who often have differing views on how to measure wealth and well-being. For the Gullah Geechee, community building is the primary concern.
“The key is what value is placed by governments on heritage and culture, and whether incorporating a place like Daufuskie can really transfer that,” says Josiah “Jazz” Watts, a Gullah Geechee and justice strategist at One Hundred Miles, a nonprofit conservancy in Georgia.
A simpler way of life
Today, about 500 people live permanently on the island, down from a peak of 3,000 during the island’s oystering heyday, which ended in the 1950s. Mostly affluent residents live inside the gated Haig Point, a private club on the site of a former plantation. Others live “outside the gates” in trailers and renovated cottages in nearby marshes, connected by old ox-cart trails that wind through the thick brush and palms. There is also a historic lighthouse, a beach, a golf cart rental, and a popular dockside outpost.
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At the center of the island stands the Oyster Union Society Hall, a renovated structure where the Gullah Geechee traditionally planned funerals and festivals. A vast chunk of America’s Black population likely has connections in South Carolina’s coastal islands, says Christopher Thompson, a Gullah Geechee visiting from Beaufort.
In fact, Charleston, located within the Gullah Geechee region, was the largest port of entry for enslaved Africans during the Atlantic slave trade, with some 40 percent of all enslaved Africans brought to America entering through this port.
For many here on Daufuskie, inconvenience is the tradeoff for having little government oversight other than an occasional visit to the island by the county sheriff. Many automobile license tags on the island are expired or missing.
While there are some protections in place for this region, including the Gullah Geechee Cultural Heritage Corridor, established by Congress in 2006, they are far from comprehensive. That means fights over development and land use are taking place here and in other areas still populated by the Gullah Geechee.
In nearby Sapelo Island, Georgia, for example, the state Supreme Court ruled in September that residents have the right to a referendum on zoning changes that allow for larger homes.
On St. Helena Island, north of Daufuskie, the county nixed a developer’s bid to put a golf course in a heritage zone that expressly forbids golf courses.
Yet few places bear the battle scars of land speculation more than Daufuskie. The latest example is a planned eco-resort, promised by a Thailand-based company, that is now in question. Two other big developments here failed, and one is now a ghost resort with an overgrown golf course.
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To become a town, or not
That disconnect between risky bids to capture Gullah land wealth and the drive to preserve a historic island’s culture goes to the heart of the incorporation question, says Andrew Kahrl, a history professor at the University of Virginia.
Incorporation would be “the death knell for the Gullah Geechee on Daufuskie,” increasing the forces of gentrification, says Professor Kahrl, author of “The Land Was Ours: How Black Beaches Became White Wealth in the Coastal South.” Becoming a town could lead to its becoming an exclusive getaway and would ultimately mean higher property values. That would raise taxes on already struggling households, he says.
The Gullah Geechee might get pushed out.
With incorporation, “people think … now we’ll have more of a say, and our decision-makers will be our peers,” says Jessie White, a senior attorney at the South Carolina Environmental Law Project in Beaufort. “But as we’ve seen again and again, the best-intended decisions often get warped by greed.”
But not everyone agrees that incorporation is dangerous. In fact, some argue that formalizing island life would be beneficial for all. It would create more structure to island life. It would give islanders a chance to take a more direct and accountable role in the island’s future. And a full-time town manager might be able to secure critical state and federal funding for island projects, such as one to help reverse beach erosion or one to ensure treated water and better sewage.
“There’s a lawless aspect of how we live over here,” says Mr. Hubbard, the local council member who is also a contractor. He adds that the lack of services and accountability means that even wealthier residents struggle to hang on, and undeveloped lots drag down the resort’s finances.
“I think incorporation is a good answer to dealing with a lot of our problems,” he says. “And I’m hoping that it doesn’t get caught up in a concern that it’s going to lead to a significant amount of change on the island.”
Questions of culture
Success as a town might depend on whether a potential new local government can embrace the local Gullah Geechee culture.
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Locals say that embrace isn’t just about zoning, land use, equity, or history. It’s also about embracing the values of island culture. In Ms. Robinson’s opinion, some of the resorts closed because they didn’t adhere to the island’s Gullah Geechee spirit.
Also a local tour guide, Ms. Robinson recalls when hog butchering was a significant part of the year for the Gullah Geechee. Not all the islanders owned hogs. But the ones who did usually kept half the meat for themselves and shared the rest with other residents.
The Gullah Geechee mark their communities in other key ways: Their traditional cottages are uniquely resistant to storms and floods. Their fishing and oystering practices are sustainable. Their arts and crafts are tied to the local grasses. Locals consider the Gullah Geechee dialect, an English-based creole with influences from various West African languages, to be a distinct and musical language in its own right.
“The things that the country could learn from how Gullah Geechee communities took care of one another, cared for one another, even while under duress, enslavement, under terror, under Black codes, the Klan and Reconstruction – there’s so much power and strength in that,” says Mr. Watts.
Finding a middle way
Ms. White, the attorney for the conservation group, says she hopes the island finds a “middle way” that protects its heritage and land ownership while allowing its economy to grow. That, she says, could be a reworked relationship with the county, perhaps giving the existing island advisory council more direct power over zoning and land use.
Becoming an incorporated town might mean that absent Gullah landowners could have greater input in zoning decisions. That could also help balance power so more people have a voice in the island’s future, Ms. White says.
It might be a good idea. But South Carolina is not one of the 11 states that permit non-residents to vote on specific issues in places where they own property.
But with time and some Gullah spirit, she says, that could also change.
“There’s definitely something about that way of living and that connection to the land and place that is inherent in Gullah Geechee culture and heritage that makes them better stewards of the land,” says Ms. White.
