Even after 72 years, the case continues to appear in unexpected places. A Louisiana parish’s school board meeting. In a federal court, a redistricting map was contested. In a carpool line, two parents have a quiet conversation that starts out lighthearted but ends up being more serious. In 1954, Brown v. Board of Education was meant to resolve a dispute. It never really did, in an odd and unyielding way.
The actual ruling was remarkably brief. One unanimous opinion, nine justices, and a single sentence that essentially destroyed the legal framework of “separate but equal.” Americans typically remember that portion of the narrative. The decades of slow, relentless resistance that followed—the school buses escorted by police in South Boston, the governor of Alabama setting himself up in a doorway in Tuscaloosa to prevent two Black students from registering—are less frequently remembered. The choice was clear-cut. It was not at all how it was implemented.
The way the nation discusses Brown now has a subtle irony. Almost like a completed monument, it is called upon during ceremonies and anniversaries. However, scientists who actually examine the data consistently draw unsettling conclusions. For years, Gary Orfield of UCLA has noted that more students now attend what he refers to as “intensely segregated” schools than did thirty years ago. If it were about any other policy, that fact would make headlines for weeks. Rather, it appears in scholarly publications and the occasional opinion piece, and the discussion proceeds.
Board of Education of Oklahoma City v. Dowell, a less well-known Supreme Court ruling from 1991 that essentially informed school districts that desegregation orders were not intended to last forever, provides part of the explanation. The hint was taken by many districts. After years of integration, magnet schools started to revert to the demographics of their local communities. The classrooms silently followed, since in many parts of America, neighborhoods themselves are still split along racial and economic lines. There was no new villain to blame for it. It simply occurred.
When you stroll through practically any major American city, the topography speaks louder than any statistics. Even though the buildings are almost identical and the funding formulas are the same, the school three blocks east and the school three blocks west don’t look alike. Teachers take notice. Parents take notice. Children are the most perceptive of all. Speaking with educators who have worked in these systems for decades gives the impression that, sometime in the late 1980s, the nation quietly gave up on trying to solve the underlying issue and instead chose to manage it.
This year, the political aspect has become more prominent once more. In a recent piece about the 72nd anniversary of the decision, Louisiana Representative Troy Carter made a clear connection between Brown and the ongoing struggles over the Voting Rights Act. He made a direct argument. Seldom is the question of whether more peeling will occur once a hard-won defense begins to peel back. Usually, it’s just when. It’s worth taking a moment to consider the parallel, regardless of whether you agree with him.
This story relies heavily on memory, which is difficult to ignore. The generation of civil rights activists who witnessed Little Rock and the freedom rides is dwindling. The attorneys who represented Brown are no longer with us. The institutions they created and the presumption—possibly too cozy—that they will endure on their own are all that are left.
Perhaps they will. Perhaps a 72-year-old decision can continue to operate quietly in the background while the nation around it undergoes changes. However, a close observer would likely tell you the same thing. The project was never truly completed. That was only how it appeared for a short time.
