A few years ago I visited The International Slavery Museum, Liverpool England. While visiting the museum it seemed as if I was virtual synchronous (shifting place but not time) with history. It was as if a time portal opened and I can see the past with my eyes. I read books in school’ Nelson’s West Indian History, A Pre-Emancipation History of the West Indies etc. but the full impact of the brutality of slavery was not so tangible until that morning in the museum.
Did I hear someone just ask if she is really writing about slavery, emancipation again? Wait; allow me to quickly diffuse your tension about my obsession of emancipation this week. Firstly, it is the week in which we celebrate the anniversary of emancipation; I am only a vehicle to remind you that it would have troubled our ancestors if they would have known that we would be forgetful of their historical milestones, when we forget. If you don’t believe me check the inscription when you visit The International Slavery Museum that reads “People need to remember about slavery. It pains the ancestors when we forget.” Secondly, I am trying to understand my past and what matters to me; thus enabling me to have a more meaningful opportunity to integrate the pieces of my life in new ways. Thirdly, I owe it to my stakeholders (me [mind, body spirit] husband, child, community) to impart what I have learned. Fourthly I hope that my enriched connections/ experiences may be of some benefit to you.
In the Slavery museum there were black and white photographs, models of the masters’ home. Additionally there were models of the slave ships and the slave quarters. There were maps of the slave triangle, replicas of slave huts and there were distinctive accounts that varied in drama and suspense. The exhibits were also in the form of interactive computers that narrated stories of slaves and there were audio enactments of the dehumanizing ways they were physically and mentally tortured.
There were European accounts justifying the inhumane buying and selling of African men, women and children. True accounts of slavery, like those in the museum informs you of the European view of African culture being barbaric thus justifying their actions. Similarly, there was an elderly black man passionately narrating his story: his surname was given to his ancestor by a slave master. He along with the remainder of his family still did not know anything about their origins and can only trace their family tree so far.
Likewise, it was also there I learned about the song ‘Amazing Grace’ written by John Newton; the hymn that we bellow in church with such conviction, as if our sins parallel that of the Hymn Writer. When John Newton became a Christian he gave up his trade as a slave-trader he became an Abolitionist, Hymn Writer and wrote that said song:
Amazing grace how sweet the sound
That saved a wretch like me
I once was lost but now I’m found
Was blind but now I see
Unquestionably, the museum grabbed my attention as there was a tug, a power, a force that caused me to respect all aspects of life. It has been quiet some time since but as I replay my experience that day and I still feel incoherent from such a profound and overwhelming experience.
A global alarm was sparked this weekend past as we awaited the United States of America (US) lawmakers to strike a deal to avert a possible August debt default. I wondered about the coincidence of the Emancipation Holiday looming. This weekend was also the celebration of the Emancipation proclamation and coincidently this crisis has been whispered in certain circles, even by members of the Congressional Black Caucus, as an attack on his ethnicity.
Naturally given the time of year I reached back into our ancestral experiences. Upon doing this my train of thought flickered from democracy vs. Plantocracy. Plantocracy is a form of government in which the planters use their power to benefit themselves Whereas Democracy a form of government in which people are given a say. Can the Republicans be compared to the planters that use a persuasion tactic, power, to influence the electorate?
My train of thought also wandered onto Derek Walcott’s poem Forty Acres in his book White Egrets. The poem Forty Acres was dedicated to Barak Obama as a reference to the term forty acres and a mule. Every slave was promised forty acres and a mule upon being freed. Derek Walcott compares Obama to a freed slave and the crowds as fields he walks through. He compares the challenges Obama has to face to the hard work that lay ahead of the freed slave. In my estimation it seems as if the mule turned out to be the lawmakers, those who are stubborn and unmoved by the urging of Obama’s hand but have their obstinate minds made up. In this case the distinguished President got many mules.
Indeed the President has realized his dream of being the 44th President of the United States but undoubtedly he is still experiencing prejudice and discrimination thus the Tea Party succeeding in turning a United States Senate tug-of-war into a full-blown global conflagration. I can now hear Jessie Jackson praying ‘Keep Hope alive.” As Obama turns fifty years old, and tries to recover from the ‘psychological and physical strains’ of his job, he remains an inspiration for young and old around the world as a symbol of hardiness, much like the black slaves of old.
In life we will soar, which no doubt will be extraordinarily thrilling and rewarding, but there will always be something or someone with impatient taunts, institutional pathology attempting to make us feel incomplete. We are at the behest of our thoughts as we are ultimately driven by them. So in the times when we feel stripped and intimidated we must allow our positive thoughts to nurture and guide us. We must, hence at the most wearisome of times relinquish those opinions that give us grief. Let us walk tall, proud and visible as symbolic representations of the journey from our own forms of slavery to the true concept of freedom; which is feeling whole and complete in spite of…
Each year we celebrate the anniversary of something; birthdays, deaths, anniversary, national holidays and each year I find new meaning in these celebrations and pause for thought. A few days ago we celebrated the 176 anniversary of the emancipation of slaves. Now questions are erupting in my consciousness and about the land of my birth.
On the 1 August 1838, two years after the Emancipation Day Proclamation was passed, in thanks to God the freed slaves in Montserrat gave a silver communion cup to St. Anthony’s church. They would have seen that very same church with a sign that previously read “No slaves or dogs allowed.” In fact they were relegated to sit under a large tamarind tree while their owners worshipped.
St. Anthony’s Anglican Church was/is the oldest Anglican/Episcopal church in the Church of the Province of the West Indies (The Anglican Church of the Caribbean) built in 1636. The church was abandoned in the danger zone in 1995, due to volcanic activity. For me the church held such significance as I recall with accuracy that last time I entered and left that church. I was a teacher and my farewell was held in St. Anthony’s. I left the church with a remarkable enthusiasm for life some seventeen years ago as I embarked on my journey to the Bahamas. As an Anglican who now resides in another country in the same Province; I beam with pride to know that my island was on record of having the oldest Anglican Church in the Province.
I walked in that church yard many times and stood where the same tamarind tree was unaware of such a history with an unforgettable message. I now ask myself, did I drink from that cup when I last received Holy Communion there? Did the slaves go on to build the faith of others in the island, even the faith of my ancestors? The sign outside the church “No slaves or dogs allowed.” was taken down shortly after emancipation. The sign positioned approximately 3km from the church (not in the church yard) now reads; ‘No entry beyond this point.’
I now ask myself, where is the cup? as I retrace the steps of the former slaves in my mind. It brings to mind the fact that we have to be careful what signs we put up now, because in years to come the situations of life may force us to wear different signs. I also reflect on the fact that our past is all around us and what our ancestors did still affects us in subtle ways today. Do we realize this as we live out our lives now? I concur with a writer that once wrote the past do lingers in the present.
Do you know and understand what happened around you?
It is the week when Irish descendants everywhere “switch gears” to celebrate the tenth St. Patrick’s Day of the twenty first century. My island of Montserrat with its strong Irish tradition and history and has expanded the commemoration of March 17, 1978 to a week long celebration. Today begins a week long celebration as we observe the efforts of our Irish ancestor’s attempts to gain freedom; that led to the 1768 uprising. Three hundred years on and the spirit of the ancestor’s still lives on and this is echoed throughout the celebration of St. Patrick’s week. “As the wooden shamrock adorns the gable at the Government house many are busy in preparation for the week.” Custom officers are busy stamping the shamrock in many passports. Slave huts are being erected. The national dish goat water is being prepared. Both residents and visitors move to the beats of the bodhran, babla (drums.) The masquerades crack their whips. The mood is cheerful and contagious and we remember our heritage in varied and imaginative ways. Enjoy the video and view the list events scheduled for the week of celebrations.
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