Oregon's capitol is 2,800 miles away from the South Carolina pole where the Confederate battle flag flew until its removal this month. Activists say the distance doesn't absolve.



Oregon may lack the overt symbols of its ugly racial history. But state law once banned blacks from living here. City policies prevented them from moving up. The impact of generational oppression is still felt today, longtime African American leaders say, and far more difficult to remove than pulling down a flag.





Representative Lew Frederick (D-Portland) was among new and newly reelected House and Senate members who were also sworn in January 12, 2015, at the State Capitol. Beth Nakamura/Staff

"It's a history that Oregon has that is pretty obvious to anyone who looks at it," said State Rep. Lew Frederick, who grew up in the South. "The real question is what do we do about it?"



When Oregon became a state in 1859, it did so with a caveat: No black people -- not even "mulattos" with one white parent -- could move here. Oregon was the only free state admitted into the union with a constitution that forbade black people to live, work, vote or own property.



Some African Americans prospered despite the laws. But, as W.D. Allen and George Moore learned after opening the Golden West Hotel in 1906, running a business for black customers meant constant fights with authorities. They survived several raids and court challenges, as detailed in Oregonian articles from the time, before shutting during the Great Depression.



State law still barred black people from moving here in 1921 when an Oregon chapter of the Ku Klux Klan organized. Lawmakers lifted the ban in 1926, but discrimination persisted.



In the 1940s, when future U.S. Sen. Mark Hatfield was a Willamette University student, Salem hotels had a whites-only policy. Hatfield had to drive renowned black performers Paul Robeson and Marian Anderson to Portland after a Salem performance to find them a place to sleep.



"People believe Oregon is a pristine place, but it really tried to be a place that only had white people who live here," said Calvin Henry, the president of Oregon Assembly of Black Affairs.



Henry grew up in North Texas and came to Oregon in 1962 as a second lieutenant in the U.S. Air Force. In Oregon, he found, racism still existed, though it was more covert.



He wanted to buy a house when he enrolled in graduate school at Oregon State University, but Corvallis banks refused to grant him a loan. Henry is now working on "Whitelandia," a documentary about Oregon's history of racism.



"People in the South were quite honest about who they are," Henry said. "Black people in the South knew what they were up against. People here to try fool you."



Frederick, too, had experienced overt racism in the South. He desegregated his high school in Atlanta. His classmates sang Dixie and carried junior Ku Klux Klan cards. He was tear-gassed and threatened before leaving the South.



When Frederick moved to Oregon in 1974, six different companies "lost" his job applications, he said. Throughout the 1970s, Medford officers told him to leave town before sunset, he said. Since then, Frederick says he has been pulled over at least once a year.



Even after state lawmakers lifted the ban that barred African Americans from owning homes, Frederick said home deeds continued to include clauses preventing owners from selling to black people.



Then, in the 1950s and 1960s, construction of Interstate 5 and Memorial Coliseum forced African Americans living in Portland's Albina community to give up the homes they did own.



"They couldn't afford to buy another house, so they ended up renting," Frederick said. "If you rent, you don't have the equity you need for putting together businesses, paying for college for kids."



Home ownership rates still remain low for black Oregonians. While 64 percent of white Portlanders own homes, only 30 percent of African Americans do.



Though more than 2,300 African Americans own businesses in Portland, banks' refusal to give loans to black business owners in North Portland allowed properties to languish, Frederick said. White developers didn't have the same trouble with banks, Frederick said, another factor in the area's shift from jazz clubs to upscale condominiums.



Oregon has lagged, too, in one way the South hasn't: political representation of people of color.



The constitutional ban meant Oregon never developed a large black community. African Americans make up just 2 percent of the state population and 6 percent of Portland's. That lack of real community meant black Oregonians never developed into a powerful political force.



Frederick is one of only two African Americans in Oregon's 90-member state legislature. The Portland City Council has only ever had two commissioners of color.



That dynamic is changing, Frederick said. Eight years ago, only 12 African Americans sat on state commissions. Now more than 100 African Americans do, including three out of five members on the powerful Oregon Liquor Control Commission.



As South Carolina's flag came down, Frederick plotted ways to help more black entrepreneurs open successful businesses.



Oregon may not have a flag to remove, but the state will need tangible proof that change is coming.

-- Casey Parks

503-221-8271

cparks@oregonian.com; @caseyparks