Without new sewer system, many can’t see a future for Tamina

Tamina needs a champion. The tiny Montgomery County community, founded in 1871 by freed slaves, is imperiled on many fronts, but its most urgent need is a modern sewer system to replace the aging, inadequate septic tanks serving its 200 or so remaining houses.

Last month, the yearslong struggle toward this goal advanced a bit with the settlement of a lawsuit filed by Tamina’s nonprofit water agency against the neighboring city of Shenandoah, which had backed out of a deal to treat Tamina’s sewage. A new arrangement with a municipal utility district is in the works, but many financial and practical obstacles remain.

On the surface, it’s hard to see why this is such an overwhelming challenge. Dozens of times a year, Texas real estate developers create special districts that provide utility service to new subdivisions in unincorporated areas like Tamina.

Granted, the process is a bit more complicated in an established community, particularly one where the per-capita income is about $17,000 a year. But is it unreasonable to hope that a leader with a creative solution might emerge in one of the state’s fastest-growing counties?

The stakes certainly justify bold action on someone’s part. Tamina, along with a few other “freedmen’s towns” scattered across the country, is a monument to the struggle of African-Americans to build a life for their families after their emancipation. These communities are rapidly disappearing, but a few longtime residents are determined to keep Tamina alive.

“The land represents the blood, heart and soul of our African-American heritage,” Tamina resident Annette Hardin told Houston photographer Marti Corn for Corn’s book of Tamina images, the subject of a column I wrote last June.

Among those struggling to preserve that heritage is James Leveston, a 73-year-old retired airline mechanic who has lived in Tamina for most of his life. As president of the Old Tamina

Water Supply Corp., Leveston has led the negotiations with neighboring communities and state regulators to bring sewer service to Tamina.

“If we don’t get this done,” Leveston told me, “I can’t see a future for our community.”

The reasons are pretty clear. Leveston and his neighbors won’t live forever, and new investment is unlikely in the absence of basic infrastructure. Development pressure is mounting from the prosperous, rapidly growing communities on every side of Tamina.

Real estate professionals like to talk about the “highest and best use” of property. Someone who failed to consider Tamina’s history might conclude that its narrow, rutted streets, poor drainage and crumbling buildings fall short of this standard. Perhaps the community’s disappearance would not be universally lamented.

Fears of ‘conspiracy’

Here’s how a frustrated Leveston put it in a 2014 letter to a state environmental official:

“The entire Tamina community feels as though there is a joint conspiracy between the various cities surrounding Tamina to prevent us from getting service, and to drive us out and commercialize the whole west side of Tamina from the railroad track to the I-45 freeway for now, and the rest of the community later.”

“Conspiracy” is a strong word, but it’s fair to say that the preservation of Tamina never seems to be important enough for any of the other players in this drama to look beyond narrow self-interest. Shenandoah backed out of its sewer service deal after learning that the terms of a federal grant to pay for the sewer lines would have required the city to permanently forgo annexing Tamina.

“No responsible City Council would agree to that,” said Shenandoah’s attorney, William Ferebee.

Perhaps not. But justifying a decision to say “no” is a lot easier than finding a way to say “yes.” And it’s not hard to find examples of area leaders who saw the big picture and took decisive action to solve difficult problems.

Vision and influence

Houston needed more parks, so the late Councilwoman Eleanor Tinsley created a way for neighborhoods to use school playgrounds. Buffalo Bayou was a languishing asset, so philanthropists Nancy and Rich Kinder supplied money and creative talent to develop Buffalo Bayou Park. Roy Hofheinz: Astrodome. Jesse Jones: Houston Ship Channel.

Where are the leaders like these in Montgomery County? Who has the will, the vision and the influence to ensure that Tamina, a shrine to courage and resilience that’s already greatly diminished, doesn’t simply melt into its surroundings?

Tamina’s residents are certainly doing their part. Instead of relaxing in their retirement, Leveston and his wife, Julia, have plunged into the minutiae of utility regulation, spending countless hours consulting with lawyers and writing letters to state and local officials.

Tamina doesn’t need a savior, but it does need help. Who will step up?