The Forgotten Black Towns Buried Under American Lakes
Countless American lakes hide lost towns, many of them vibrant Black communities destroyed to make way for progress.
Many Americans know of neighborhoods lost to highways or rivers rerouted for dams, but few realize that beneath some of the country’s most popular recreational lakes lie the remnants of thriving Black towns, erased by deliberate flooding in the name of progress and prosperity. Lake Lanier in Georgia, created in the 1950s, covers what was once Oscarville, a self-sufficient Black community built by freedmen and their descendants after the Civil War.
Oscarville was born out of resilience. In the decades following emancipation, Black farmers and entrepreneurs in Forsyth County cultivated a lively town. In the early 20th century, however, racial tensions exploded after the alleged assault of a white woman in 1912. The resulting mob violence saw the lynching of several Black men and the forceful expulsion of over a thousand Black residents from Forsyth County. Oscarville, once defined by independence and hope, was left abandoned, its buildings unclaimed.
Decades later, the expansion of Atlanta created insatiable demand for water and electricity. The federal government announced the creation of Lake Lanier, damming the Chattahoochee River to provide power and drinking water to the growing metropolis. Rather than simply evicting the remaining rural families, the authorities labeled the land deserted, even though the crumbling foundations and churchyards told another story.
The flooding of Oscarville was one of several such episodes across the South. In Alabama, the creation of Lake Martin submerged the town of Kowaliga, carved out by Black sharecroppers in the late 19th century and renowned for its lumber mill and Black-owned railroad. Lake Guntersville swallowed Henry Island, a Black settlement established after the Civil War. Each of these lakes buried not just homes, but schools, churches, cemeteries, and centuries of community history.
The motivations for these “inundations” were rarely impartial. Many of the towns targeted were poor or Black, and government planners used eminent domain to seize the land for prices far below its value. Families were often given little notice, left to salvage what belongings they could before the water rose. Remains in church cemeteries were hastily relocated—or, in some cases, simply left behind.
Today, recreational boaters and swimmers on these lakes are often unaware of what lies below. Divers occasionally report glimpses of submerged barn rooftops or crumbling stone foundations, and fishermen have pulled relics from the deep mud. Oral histories from displaced families tell stories of heartbreak and perseverance, but the tale of the lost towns under American lakes remains largely absent from textbooks.
The afterlives of these communities have taken different forms. Some descendants banded together in new cities, others scattered across the country. But the lakes built over Oscarville, Kowaliga, and so many other all-Black towns erased pieces of history that might otherwise have flourished. The hidden past beneath America’s lakes serves as a silent reminder of both the challenges faced by Black Americans and the capacity of history to forget its most inconvenient truths.
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