Face to face with slavery down south USA
There are still miles to go. But Black people continue to rise, carrying the resilience of those who came before them and waking each morning determined to build a better tomorrow.
Opiyo Oloya. (File)
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OPINION
By Opiyo Oloya
Travelling to American South last week, you would expect me to talk mostly about the joyful South Louisiana Cajun and Creole traditions along the New Orleans, Baton Rouge and Biloxi corridor. This, after all, is the region shaped by French, Spanish, Caribbean and African Catholic roots and from which originated the region’s most famous culinary exports — gumbo, jambalaya, crawfi sh and boudin. What’s more, New Orleans is the birthplace of jazz and brass traditions, which were in full display on the last day we were in town.
All that happened. Except, I experienced something else much deeper than everything I experienced in the south — the footprints of slavery. I thought I knew just about everything there was to know about the ruthlessness of the brutal trade of African people in the Americas, Caribbeans and Europe, who were forced to work in sugar, cotton, coffee and tobacco plantations. I have read books on slavery and watched movies like Amistad (1997) directed by Steven Spielberg, Django Unchained (2012) by Quentin Tarantino, 12 Years a Slave (2013) by Steve McQueen, and Emancipation (2022) directed by Antoine Fuqua and starring Will Smith.
But nothing prepared me for coming face to face with actual relics of slavery. And it was not like we went out looking for that dark history. Not at all. On the first morning in New Orleans because we had nothing planned, we drove an hour and half (130km) to Baton Rouge, first for breakfast at Le Reve Cafe, which was okay. We then drove to Louisiana State Capitol located at 900 N. Third Street in downtown Baton Rouge. Billed as the tallest state capitol building in the US, we found the tower closed for renovations, so we only toured the Congressional and Senate halls.
On the spur of the moment, we decided to visit Louisiana State University’s Rural Life Museum. Yes, it’s about rural life, but we suspect LSU’s leaders chose this benign name to disguise the true purpose of the museum from President Trump, who wants to ban teaching about slavery. But don’t be fooled. This is a full-fledged exhibition about life in the southern states dating back to the times of slavery, something we quickly found out once we began the self-guided tour of the 25-acres facility.
The enormous indoor facility warehouses thousands of artifacts, the majority of which are still being actively researched, catalogued and labelled by faculty and students working flat-out to ensure accuracy of information (I estimate this painstaking job will take at least another 20 years).
Everywhere you look, there was something about those dark years. In this corner is a photocopy of the Bill of Sale dated January 11, 1848 of a slave named John Brown from the estate of Alfred T. Conrad and purchased by Mary Moore of New Orleans for $900, approximately $20,000 in today’s currency.
In the other corner are artifacts and information on how Louisiana was part of Spanish territory handed to France and then purchased by the US in December 1803. Under Spanish law known as coartacion, created after 1762, slaves within the Spanish territory of Louisiana could own property and purchase their freedom. When the US bought Louisiana, it passed a new law called Code Noir which forbade slaves from owning property, buying their own freedom and gave plantation owners legal rights to whip or imprison slaves in a jail known as a slave pen. What’s more, LSU has the original River Road slave pen preserved inside the museum.
Out in the large yard, one literally walked in the footprints of slaves. Over there is preserved an 1835 overseer’s house, over here is a complex of authentic slave cabins, a historic black church, a commissary and a sick house for slaves. The doll a slave child played with. The beds on which they slept.
Our guide, a young white man named Mark, provided one of the most interesting, unvarnished, raw, unromanticised historical accounts based directly on French and American archival documents and the written memoirs of the owner, Laura Locoul Gore. He delivered it from the perspective of the slave owners, of course, allowing my group of mostly Black audience to get to see how slave owners thought about their slaves. We walked the Big House inside of which field slaves were not allowed to set foot. The pictures of the Duparcs still hang on the walls, their beds and fine china and beds are still there, just as they were 200 years ago.
For the Duparc family, slaves were foremost property that could be turned into ready cash — you need money today, you go to the bank or ATM machine. Back then, if you needed money in a hurry, you sold a slave or two or three. The inventory of African slaves on the plantation between 1808 and 1850 numbered 190. There was Jean-Pierre, age 25, a creole from Louisiana worth $100,000 in today’s money. There was Docteur, 26 years old, slave from Congo, a field hand worth $40,000 in today’s money. And so went the list. Owners retained no more emotional attachment to slaves than they had or their travelling suitcase or bunk bed. Which was the case at the larger Whitney Plantation, located just three kilometres down the road from Laura Plantation, which we visited the following morning.
Our young Black guide made it clear the narrative was from the perspectives of the slaves. In 1820, the owner, Jean Jacques Haydel, passed the ownership of the plantation to his two sons, Jean Jacques Jr and Marcellin, with 150 slaves working the plantation. On March 24, 1840, when he became broke and to settle his debts, Jean Jacques Jr decided to auction his entire estate of 62 slaves. Top of the list was African slave Little Guim, 50 years old, sold to Etienne Villere for $170. Listed at No. 35 was a slave named Gurine Luta, 36 years old, a ploughman and carter, sold to Felix Garcia for $1,525. Second from bottom at No. 61 was a female slave named Sery, 25 years old, described as an “idiot” (intellectual disabilities), sold to Omer Fortier for $105.
“Why sell an “idiot” slave?”, our guide asked, and when none of us knew the answer, he told us. “She may have been an idiot, but to slave owners, her womb could still be used to breed many baby slaves, so she was very valuable property.
After two hours walking through the field, seeing first-hand the names, the huts that are still there, including the rebuilt blacksmith workshop where Django Unchained was filmed, I felt a deep sense of sadness and hope. Sadness because Blacks still face daily discrimination in America. But I felt hopeful because Black people continue to break from the invisible chains set during slavery, finding ways to do better. I also believe reparation is possible if it is focused on delivering tangible benefits, such as free education and training for descendants of slaves. There are still miles to go. But Black folks wake up each morning looking for a better day. Just as their ancestors did.
The writer is the inaugural associate vice-president, Equity, Diversity and Inclusion (EDI) at Western University, London, Ontario, Canada