Long before equity became a popular talking point, the National Association for the
Advancement of Colored People (NAACP) was born out of necessity. According to the Martha’s Vineyard branch “NAACP Centennial Souvenir Journal,” the NAACP was founded in 1909 at a time when “lynchings were all too common,” and racial violence was woven into the fabric of American life. The booklet notes that the NAACP emerged when reformers united “not by color, but by cause,” with a shared commitment to “promote equality and eradicate prejudice among citizens of the U.S.” That national mission would eventually take root here on Martha’s Vineyard — not because the Island was exempt from injustice, but because it was not.
The Martha’s Vineyard Branch of the NAACP was established in 1963, during a period of national upheaval and local reckoning. As the centennial booklet makes clear, while there was no overt, headline-grabbing racism on the Island, there were “subtle things happening that would be extremely hard to prove,” particularly in housing, employment, and social access. For example, Realtors “would not refuse to take you around,” the history recounts, “they would just take you around where they wanted you to go.” These quieter forms of exclusion demanded urgent attention.
From its earliest days, the Vineyard branch understood that change would not come from policy alone. Quoting the NAACP’s foundational philosophy, the booklet reminds readers that “change would have to come from the people.” That belief shaped the branch’s approach — meetings held in church halls, volunteers organizing fundraisers, and members advocating for fair hiring practices, education, and access to housing and healthcare. Over time, the Martha’s Vineyard NAACP became a steady presence, committed to what the booklet describes as “conducting voter mobilization and monitoring equal opportunity in the public and private sectors.”
Perhaps most striking is how often the centennial journal emphasizes continuity over completion. “It is better,” one passage reflects, “but it is not equal.” The work, then as now, remained unfinished. Leadership was never viewed as a title alone, but as responsibility. “Leadership is not a torch that can be passed on,” the booklet states. “It is a torch that has to be grasped and built upon.”
As the Martha’s Vineyard NAACP enters a new chapter under new leadership, it does so grounded in this history — one shaped by ordinary Islanders who refused to accept inequity as the cost of comfort. The legacy they leave behind is not just institutional, but moral: a reminder that justice on this Island has always required intention, courage, and care — and still does.
That legacy is not abstract. It is documented, embodied, and visible. The early years of the Martha’s Vineyard NAACP are remembered not only through written records, but through images that capture the spirit of a community finding its voice. Some of those photographs live in private collections and local archives; others are preserved in the Martha’s Vineyard branch “NAACP Centennial Souvenir Journal,” anchoring memory to documented history.
One photograph preserved in the journal captures this truth with quiet power: Kivie Kaplan standing just behind his wife Emily Kaplan, Dr. Myrlie Evers-Williams, and beloved Oak Bluffs resident and NAACP M.V. officer Della Hardman. The image visually anchors the Vineyard’s local work within the broader national movement. Kivie Kaplan, who served as president of the national NAACP from 1966 to 1975, and spent many summers on Martha’s Vineyard, helped strengthen the Island’s connection to national leadership. The presence of Dr. Myrlie Evers-Williams — widow of Medgar Evers, and a towering figure in the civil rights movement — alongside local and regional advocates reinforces what the booklet makes clear again and again: The Vineyard branch has never existed in isolation. Its work has always been in conversation with a larger fight for justice, drawing strength from national voices while remaining grounded in local responsibility.
Other photographs from the branch’s earliest years tell complementary stories. One reflects the Vineyard’s connection to Williamston, NC in 1963, when Island members traveled South to deliver food and supplies and to stand in solidarity with Black residents facing overt racial violence and voter suppression. Participants were arrested after protesting segregation, and spent a night in jail. One woman later reflected that she acted because she “wouldn’t want my grandchildren to know that I had a chance to make a change, and didn’t do it.” The image stands as quiet testimony to a defining belief of the Vineyard NAACP: that justice requires showing up, even when the work leads far from home.
Another photograph from 1963 captures a prayer meeting — an early gathering that speaks to how the branch sustained itself before its work became visible in public life. Faith communities were central to the NAACP’s formation on the Island, offering not only meeting space but moral grounding. They steadied resolve, strengthened courage, and affirmed that the struggle ahead would demand both spiritual and civic commitment.
By the summer of 1964, that commitment had moved into the open. A photograph preserved in the “Centennial Souvenir Journal” shows the Martha’s Vineyard NAACP participating in the Fourth of July parade in Oak Bluffs. On a day dedicated to celebrating American freedom, the branch stepped forward visibly — claiming space within a national ritual while reminding the community that liberty must be actively upheld. The image captures a pivotal shift, from organizing in private rooms to asserting presence in public life. It reflects what the booklet documents throughout: that the Vineyard NAACP understood visibility itself as a form of advocacy.
If the Vineyard branch’s early history teaches us anything, it’s that the NAACP was never meant to exist as a symbol. It was built as a tool — designed for moments when people feel unheard, when systems feel immovable, and when silence becomes more dangerous than speaking up. That understanding has carried the organization forward for more than six decades. Today, it arrives in a new chapter — one shaped by a changing Island and led by a president who sees the work not as ceremonial, but as necessary.
That urgency shapes how Shawn Ramoutar, the newly elected president of the Martha’s Vineyard NAACP, understands his role. For Ramoutar, leadership is not just about preserving legacy — it is about ensuring the organization can respond to the Island as it actually exists today.
“Now the population is rapidly moving toward 30,000 year-round residents,” he told me. “Our infrastructure needs to be changed … and the ultimate thing is housing — rising inflation, cost of living. These are all things that always affect communities of color disproportionately.” In other words, the Vineyard is not frozen in time. And neither are the pressures facing the people who live here.
Ramoutar’s vision begins with bridging a gap many Islanders feel but rarely name — the divide between summer visibility and year-round isolation; between knowing a community exists and actually being held by one. “I’m looking for tons of professional Black people on this Island,” he said, “not just to be social, but to get you connected into the community … so you know you’re not alone here.” He laughed as he recalled a familiar sentiment — “There’s some kind of secret party going on that we’re not invited to” — but beneath the humor is a serious truth. Too often, belonging is left to chance. Ramoutar imagines the NAACP as a bridge, where presence leads to participation, and where isolation is no longer mistaken for invisibility.
That work, he believes, must also be intergenerational. “Our membership is getting older,” he said. “They’re doing the most … and this is their time where they should be winding down … and due to the situations of life, that is not possible.” Rather than viewing elders as stepping aside, Ramoutar sees them as carrying too much alone. “Young people need to step up and come out and assist our elders,” he said. “You’re losing opportunities to glean knowledge from the generation before us … you’re going to look up, and they’re going to be gone … and then you’re going to wonder, ‘How do we do this?’” His reminder lands hard: “You’re asking Google — but you got the source right next door to you.”
Under Ramoutar’s leadership, the Vineyard NAACP is moving forward with renewed intention and structure, guided by the footsteps of our elders who carried the work. “I’m trying to reorganize this organization, and I need committee members,” he said. “I need people who work in the health field … finance … political … municipal and state government.” He envisions systems that allow the chapter to respond quickly: clear communication, consistent meetings, and modern tools that keep people informed when something is happening. “I want our local chapter to have the same type of alert system … ‘Something is happening. This is going on.’”
Because for Ramoutar, the NAACP should be most visible at the exact moment someone feels invisible.
Education is another area he believes requires immediate attention. “We’re spending money on these new school complexes,” he said, “but are we paying our teachers? … What are the children learning?” He calls literacy “a huge issue,” and believes it must be addressed directly — because education is not just a school issue; it becomes a life issue.
At the heart of Ramoutar’s leadership is a civil rights framework grounded in knowledge, connection, and responsibility. “One thing that remained true,” he said, “is having knowledge of self — knowing where you came from and where you’re going.” While the NAACP has always fought for Black civil rights, Ramoutar is clear about the broader impact. “Yes, we’re fighting for the rights of Black people — but the benefits are for all people in general … When Black people have civil rights, everyone else does as well.”
Still, his message is not abstract. It is an invitation. “If you’re feeling like it’s an impossibility,” he said, “it’s only an impossibility because you won’t come to the table. Everyone needs a seat at the table. Everyone needs to be heard.” And the challenge he keeps returning to: “Everybody’s waiting for somebody else to do it first. No — change starts with you.”
That philosophy, participation over symbolism, is perhaps most visible at the branch’s annual Martin Luther King Jr. Day Luncheon. More than a commemorative event, the luncheon has long served as the organization’s primary membership drive, and a yearly call back to the work.
Each January, the Martha’s Vineyard Branch of the NAACP gathers the Island community for its MLK Day Luncheon — an event that has become both a ritual and a reckoning. On Jan. 19, 2026, the community will once again come together for an afternoon rooted in reflection, remembrance, and responsibility. Through shared meals, words of tribute, and moments of collective pause, the luncheon honors Dr. King’s legacy not as history alone, but as a living call to action — one that asks each of us to show up, listen, and participate.
Long a cornerstone of the branch’s work, the MLK Day Luncheon serves as both a moral reset and an entry point — reminding those in attendance that justice is not sustained by admiration alone, but by presence. Attendance becomes membership. Membership becomes service. And service becomes the quiet, necessary work of building a more equitable Island.
The Vineyard NAACP also continues to support longstanding health initiatives, including advocacy and outreach around prostate cancer — work Ramoutar notes is especially urgent given the disproportionate impact on Black men specifically. These efforts reflect the organization’s enduring commitment to addressing inequity where it shows up most clearly: in health outcomes, education access, housing stability, and civic participation.
The story of the Martha’s Vineyard NAACP has never been one of perfect progress. It has always been a story of people choosing engagement over comfort — again and again, decade after decade. The early organizers who traveled South, who prayed together, who stepped into public view on the Fourth of July, did not do so knowing how the story would end. They acted because the moment required them to. This new chapter asks the same thing of us now. Presence. Membership. Service. Action. The work continues — only if we do.
