Black History Month is a time to reflect on the people, places, and communities that have shaped how we live, care for one another, and define well-being. In Wards 7 and 8, that history is not distant. It is part of the landscape.
From Anacostia to Congress Heights, this is a story of strength, self-determination, and community. It is a story that continues to shape how people live, connect, and care for one another today.
A Legacy of Self-Determination
In the late 1800s, Frederick Douglass made his home in Anacostia at Cedar Hill, overlooking the city he helped shape through decades of advocacy and public service.
For Douglass, freedom was not only political. It was lived. It meant the ability to learn, to work, to care for family, and to move through the world with dignity and independence. It meant having the opportunity to build a life, and to sustain it.
He understood that true freedom required more than rights. It required access: to education, to safe living conditions, to opportunity, and to the basic necessities that support quality of life. Douglass spoke about the importance of strength — both moral and physical — and supported efforts that helped Black communities build stability in the years following emancipation.
Seen through a modern lens, his vision aligns with what we understand today: that wellness is shaped not only by medical care, but by environment, opportunity, and the ability to make choices about one’s own life.
At Cedar Hill, Douglass’ vision of freedom was rooted in independence and self-determination. Just beyond that hilltop, those ideas were taking shape in a different way, as families began building lives grounded not only in ownership, but in shared responsibility and community. That vision would become visible in places like Barry Farm, where freedom was lived day to day.
Community as Care: Barry Farm
After the Civil War, Barry Farm was established as a settlement for formerly enslaved people, one of the earliest opportunities for Black families in Washington, DC to own land and build independent lives.
Through the Freedmen’s Bureau, residents were able to purchase small plots, construct homes, and establish schools, churches, and institutions that would support the community for generations. In a time of profound uncertainty, Barry Farm offered something essential: a place to begin again.
But what made Barry Farm sustainable was not just land ownership. It was the systems of care that developed within the community. Neighbors shared knowledge, supported one another, and created networks that helped families navigate limited resources and persistent barriers. Daily life required movement — walking to work, tending gardens, building homes — and it required connection. Care was not centralized in an institution. It was embedded in relationships.
In that environment, living well was unified and collaborative. It was shaped by the strength of the community, by access to resources, and by the ability to rely on one another.
That model of care did not exist in isolation. While Barry Farm reflected care built within a community, other approaches to health were taking shape nearby — rooted in institutions designed to support people in different ways. Just a short distance away, St. Elizabeths Hospital would emerge as a place where care was organized on a larger scale, shaped by evolving ideas about healing, environment, and responsibility.
A Complex Legacy of Care: St. Elizabeths
High above the Anacostia River, St. Elizabeths Hospital has long been a presence in Ward 8. This is a quiet place, expansive, and layered with history.
When it was established in 1855, it represented a different way of thinking about care. At a time when people with mental illness were often confined in poor conditions, St. Elizabeths was designed with intention. Open grounds, fresh air, and views of the river were not incidental. They were part of the approach.
Patients walked the campus, worked in gardens, and spent time outdoors. There was a belief that healing required more than treatment — that environment, movement, and dignity mattered.
In that sense, the campus reflected ideas that feel familiar today: that the ability to live fully is shaped by where you are, how you move, and whether you feel connected to the world around you.
But like many institutions of its time, the story of St. Elizabeths is not simple. The hospital was segregated, with separate facilities for Black patients, reflecting the inequities that shaped access to care across the country. Over time, as the patient population grew, the institution became overcrowded. What was once envisioned as a place of healing became, for some, a place of isolation.
That duality — care and constraint, intention and limitation — is part of its complicated legacy.
Today, the grounds of St. Elizabeths remain, carrying both the beauty of the landscape and the weight of its history. They stand as a reminder that care has always been evolving and is shaped not only by knowledge, but by values, and by how dignity and access are defined.
Health, Place, and Equity
The story of Wards 7 and 8 also reflects longstanding health disparities that continue to shape how people live and thrive today. Access to healthcare, safe spaces for activity, and economic opportunity have not always been evenly distributed, contributing to higher rates of chronic disease, including heart disease and cancer.
These patterns did not emerge by chance. They reflect policies and systems that have influenced where resources are located and who can access them. Understanding this context is essential — not to define the community by its challenges, but to recognize the conditions that shape health, and where opportunities for change exist.
Building on a Strong Foundation
At the same time, Wards 7 and 8 have long been places of strength. Movement, connection, and shared responsibility have been part of daily life: walking to neighbors’ homes, gathering in community spaces, and supporting one another across generations.
These practices are not new. They are part of a long-standing tradition of care.
Today, they align closely with the principles of Lifestyle Medicine, where physical activity, social connection, and stress management are recognized as essential to the foundations of a healthy life. In many ways, these approaches reflect what communities here have understood for generations.
Moving Forward
Black History Month offers an opportunity to honor this legacy — not only by looking back, but by recognizing how it continues to shape the present.
At the GW Cancer Prevention and Wellness Center, this work is grounded in that understanding. Health care is shaped by place, by opportunity, and by the strength of community. Creating accessible, welcoming spaces for movement, connection, and wellness is part of continuing that legacy. Because what shapes our lives is not created in a single moment. It is built over time — through connection, through care, and through everyday choices.
And sometimes, it begins with something as simple as taking the next and necessary steps toward a stronger, healthier community.
All images courtesy Library of Congress
