Harry Belafonte had a point. Florida, let's learn to work and live with each other.

Recently, I attended a jam-packed remembrance ceremony in New York to honor my friend Harry Belafonte, the beloved singer, actor, civil rights giant and humanitarian who passed away in April 2023 at the age of 96.

As I listened to friends and family celebrate Harry in that New York church – and watched the snippets of him performing and speaking that were beamed on a big video screen – it took me back to a dinner my husband Ron and I shared with Harry and his wife, Pamela, in our home on Martha's Vineyard. We had just returned to the United States after 17 years of living in and working out of South Africa.

At some point during the dinner, Harry looked across the table and asked me: "So where are you going to live now that you're no longer in South Africa?"

I told Harry that while Ron and I would still stay in Martha's Vineyard during the summer seasons, we had also found a place in another city: Sarasota, Florida.

Without missing a beat, Harry shouted: “You can’t move to Florida! That’s a terrible place!"

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We had been attracted to Sarasota by two longtime friends, Ed and Claudia Swan, who had invited us to visit the city and see whether it would be a good place for us, too. On the first night there, they took us to a rustic downtown Sarasota restaurant full of people of all colors. As it turned out, we knew many of the folks who were dining there that night; in fact, some of them were also Vineyarders. It was a night that convinced us that Sarasota was going to be “our place,” too.

Sure enough, we loved getting to know Sarasota, although there were times when Harry’s words popped up in my head. Like, for example, the time when I was happily enjoying some great music by a local band as our party waited be seated in a Sarasota restaurant – only to be totally stunned when the band suddenly started to play, "Dixie."

Without a word, I got up and walked outside to continue waiting for us to be seated. Meanwhile, my husband and our friends stayed inside and kept up the conservation in an effort to ignore the horrible song choice.

Ironically, when I was growing up, my mother used to send me to Florida to get some of that old-time religion taught by my grandfather, who was a presiding elder – that is, a teaching preacher – in an African Methodist Episcopal church.

In those days, there were no Black officials – and plenty of separate and not-so-equal facilities for Black people. Still, everywhere you walked people of all colors would acknowledge you one way or the other – with a smile, a head nod, a combination of both or even an actual "Hello."

Of course, times have changed: Today, there are plenty of elected Black officials of various political affiliations across Florida. But then again, they haven't totally changed. Indeed, there are too many occasions today when I remember Harry's past words of warning about Florida.

For example, while we have many friends of all colors and creeds in Sarasota, I am constantly surprised when I smile at a non-Black person as I walk down a local street and they look the other way to avoid acknowledging me – or at least that's the way it feels to me.

And I can almost hear now how Harry would be speaking out about the rhetoric of Florida elected officials who have labelled diversity and inclusion as “toxic" – and openly decrying the enactment of laws that have led to the elimination of diversity, equity and inclusion programs from colleges and universities across this state.

All of these actions – as well as the ongoing attack in this state on Black history – make me wonder whether Harry would be calling me frequently to say, "See, I told you so!" about living in Florida.

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But then I remember a moment during the recent remembrance in New York when Carmen Perez, the CEO of The Gathering for Justice – a nonprofit organization founded by Harry – recalled one of the many truths that Harry would say to her as the group went about its work.

"We have to learn to work with one another," Harry would frequently tell Carmen.

Those words, full of no-nonsense determination but also limitless hope, are still so relevant today. And they are the words that continue to make me smile when I think of Harry and all of the wonderful memories of our friendship.

Let's all continue to honor the spirit of Harry's enduring legacy.

Let's all continue to learn to work – and live – with each other.

Charlayne Hunter-Gault is an Emmy-Award-winning journalist who has worked in all media. She is the author of five books, including the 2022 book titled "My People: Five Decades of Writing About Black Lives." She resides in Sarasota.

This article originally appeared on Sarasota Herald-Tribune: Harry Belafonte told me not to move to Florida, but I did. Here's why