"An extraordinary emblematic flag"
I visited Barbados on a teacher professional development trip in 2018. My assigned research topic for the trip was Bussa’s 1816 slave rebellion. Within three days in April of that year, the rebellion had spread to most of the southern half of the island.
Slavery in Barbados was addressed in a limited way by tour guides and historians on the island. There were not accounts from the slaves to detail their life experience. During this trip, I viewed the rebellion as evidence that slaves were not satisfied with the conditions of their lives and wanted their freedom. In a roundabout on one of the highways in the country, there stands a statue of Bussa- hands raised, fists clenched, chains broken. However, there is no diary entry from Bussa, just accounts from the British of the importance of putting down the rebellion. We can only make assumptions about Bussa’s objectives, but we are missing his words.
In an account written in a private letter on Tuesday, April 16th, the slaves were described as carrying “an extraordinary emblematic flag.” British sketches of the flag, now housed in the National Archives in London, are the only record of the goals of the slaves. They were striving for the freedoms that had been denied to them. They wanted to marry and have access to the privileges of the planters. But they did not want to overthrow the British Crown. They wanted to be British citizens.
This flag is the voice of Bussa and his followers. Slaves were often kept illiterate in order to limit their access to the tools and ideas to agitate for freedom. In this way, their voices are lost. Without those voices, it is possible for historians and individuals to imagine what slaves would have thought or said. But those imaginations do not allow for the complexity of human thought and experience. We are missing these people and we will never truly know their lives. It is unique to have evidence of what Bussa really thought. It contributes to the recognition and understanding of the humanity of Bussa and his followers.
Emily Longenecker, 34, High School Teacher, Virginia
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“Personal freedom was therefore not existent.”
The title of my moment comes from a quote on page 55 of Watson and Potter's book, Low-Cost Housing in Barbados: Evolution or Social Revolution?
My humanities moment occurred in the Bajan archives while being able to view the original document that freed the enslaved people of the island. I simply sat down in the corner of the room and cried. I felt moved to share this discovery with my son. Although we are privileged to be removed from this kind of historical trauma, it was an important experience to consider its effects on the lives of real people. Knowing how hard it is to come into such documents in our country, understanding the importance of this document and being thankful that my child understands to a degree how significant this experience will forever be for me both humbled and overwhelmed me.
Due to geographic constraints, the option to flee beyond the island’s borders even after emancipation was practically impossible. It even seemed as if their freedom was merely symbolic due to the chattel system which allowed the once-enslaved persons to build small homes on the land of their former imprisoners for labor. The idea of freedom was born on that day. However, much like in so many parts of the world where there is still a struggle between the races and the haves/have nots, personal freedom was still not existent for these people. They still had to be very cognizant of all of their actions to ensure food and shelter for their families. Fear of having to move their home or simply not having a place to move their home helped perpetuate the system of a white dominated society for many more years past the initial emancipation.
Low-Cost Housing in Barbados: Evolution or Social Revolution?
June 21, 2018
Lisa Roop Belcher
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Fish and Place in Barbados
This mid-20th century oil painting, titled “Fishermen Mending Nets” by the artist Charles Poyer, depicts an elderly man repairing fishing nets by hand with tools located in a basket. The young boy watches with intrigue and appears ready to learn. This customary activity is occurring by the beach, imparting a sense of calm and peace to the painting.
As a social studies teacher traveling in Barbados, I was struck by the complicated relationship Barbadians have with their history. One of our tour guides stated that Bardadians “don’t value our built environment and history as much as they should.” School children, she explained, are required to take few history classes. Plantation tour guides also noted the difficulty in discussing race relations and the challenge of presenting the horrors of slavery with the island’s current image as a sunny, carefree tourist destination. In fact, this painting can be viewed as a microcosm for the representation of race on the island. Many emancipated slaves turned to fishing to escape working on sugar cane plantations. Yet the artist Charles Poyer decided not to depict a black man sharing fishing skills with a black boy, but rather a white man and white boy. This painting raises interesting questions about the transmission of knowledge and race on an island dominated by people of African ancestry.
Despite reluctance and challenges in presenting a nuanced narrative of the island’s history, Barbadians still have pride in their country’s culture. Fishing in Barbados is viewed as a sign of self-sufficiency and an integral part of their identity. The man in the painting is not only imparting a specific skill set to the boy, but also sharing values like the importance of thrift and hard work. Today fishing towns like Oistins deck their street with neon images of fish and locals urge tourists to try the national dish of flying fish and cou cou. Their pride in this dish shows their reverence for the island’s African ancestry, as cou cou was a common meal for slaves. Other important places like Independence Arch in Bridgetown feature the flying fish on its pillars. Thus, fish continue to be embedded in the art and cultural landscape of the island, and remains integral to the country’s identity.
The oil painting <em>Fishermen Mending Nets</em> by Charles Poyer
6-19-18
Frances Coffey, High School Teacher
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George Washington and the Movement of Enslaved Persons to Barbados
Before travelling to the George Washington House in Bridgetown, Barbados, I thought what most Americans think about George Washington: he was a strong, moral, and noble leader who is the epitome of what it means to be a patriot and an American. While visiting his former home in Barbados, where he lived for two months in 1751, I realized how important the movement--both voluntary and involuntary--of people to this island shapes the nation’s and region’s history with one of the darkest conceptions of all time.
At the George Washington House, many exhibits and tour excerpts discussed how Washington, nineteen years old at the time, moved to Barbados partly to find a more comfortable living environment for his ailing brother. However, Washington was also looking for a way to rise above his modest status in society. Washington had ambitions of belonging to the social elite and used his time in Barbados to network and learn ways in which he could improve his status socially and financially. While the tour was informative and did well to address Washington’s successes and personal character (the quality of which is often praised in history books and popular culture), the tour and museum both failed to address the issue of slavery and its role during Washington’s time in the island.
Agriculture was a money-making machine in the eighteenth century, and Washington inherited and maintained arable land in both Barbados and Virginia. The result of this was an increase in social and financial standing, the dream he had been working to fulfill. But he did not accomplish this on his own. Washington’s financial growth, his beautiful plantation house, and his rise as a member of the social elite are all directly linked to the enslaved persons who labored over his fields. And Washington was not alone in this, neither in the Colonies or island nations like Barbados. Hundreds of plantations owners across the new world relied on enslaved labor to produce. As a result, millions of enslaved Africans were bought and sold to be overworked, tortured, and killed.
While I was at the George Washington house, I saw a small display about the use of enslaved labor on the plantation. The display’s artifacts consisted mostly of informational readings, but it also had a set of mannequin’s representing an enslaved man and child as well as a display case of chains, shackles, and tools for punishment. By the time I reached this small corner of the exhibit, I had been observing and exploring the property for nearly two hours. This was the first reference I saw that discussed the use of enslaved people on the plantation. Based on other historical records, we know that the plantation economy of the Colonies and Barbados were dependent on slave labor, so I couldn't help but wonder why there was no mention or recognition that this household’s status and legacy is based almost entirely on one of the darkest institutions humanity has ever created.
June 2018
Kristen Fallon, 25, English Teacher
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How do you get to the stories we are <em>not </em>told?
Bernier shares how her lifelong interest in the history of slavery was sparked by curiosity about the stories that seemed to be missing in the account of the British Empire she was taught in school.
<a href="https://www.ed.ac.uk/profile/celeste-marie-bernier">Celeste-Marie Bernier</a>, University of Edinburgh
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Overlooked Histories
The image of this colorful sign is obviously meant to be “fun” and perhaps even funny. When I took this picture while traveling with fellow teachers and educators in Barbados, it honestly was because I thought the sign was kind of cute. But later on that day, when I thought about the sign and about looking East across the Atlantic Ocean, I had mixed emotions. The image seemed cheerful, but thinking about the sign marking the distance to Africa’s west coast made me feel anything but. All I could think about was that a few hundred years ago, African slaves on that coast were forced onto ships in chains. Those people endured a horrific journey of thousands of miles that lasted for several months, during which they endured most gruesome, horrific, inhumane treatment imaginable. Men, women, and children were separated from their loved ones, herded onto ships like animals, and packed into tight spaces to maximize cargo and profit for their captors. Many died of disease, suffocation, or drowning by throwing themselves overboard because they would rather die on their own terms than face whatever horrors awaited them at the end of their journey. Those that survived were whipped, beaten, starved, and then sold on the island of Barbados to grow sugar cane and face some of the shortest lifespans for slaves anywhere in the Western Hemisphere. These thoughts make me really upset. It’s a mixture of sadness, anger, shame and guilt that I used to push out of my mind when talking about or teaching about slavery or other less-than-cheerful topics in history in order to seem more objective or “removed”, but now I embrace those feelings. I use them to check my privilege, and to fuel the fire in me as a teacher and lifelong learner to learn as much as I can about the events and people in history who are so often underserved or overlooked because they aren’t “pleasant” or nostalgic enough to be “fun” to teach or learn about.
My trip to Barbados was an eye-opening one in many ways (some unexpected). I discovered that some of my own ancestors are buried on that island, and I learned that they were sugar planters and slave owners. This discovery further affirmed my belief that everyone is connected. Those connections might be rooted in the past, but they shape our present in ways that we don’t always fully, consciously acknowledge or understand. I wasn’t surprised by this information, and I also make no effort whatsoever to hide it. I don’t want to hide it. I don’t want to feel neutral or indifferent about it. I don’t want to ignore it or bury it or pretend that it doesn’t matter. It does matter. It matters because my privilege as a white person living in the United States is built on the forced movement and enslavement of African people. My ancestors came to the Americas of their own free will, and profited from slave labor in Barbados before they moved further north to Virginia. Those are the facts. The life that I now live and the comforts that I enjoy are byproducts of slavery, and to deny that fact would be unconscionable.
As a teacher, it is my responsibility to convey to my students that the impact of slavery cannot be underestimated. It is my job as an educator to not only be an objective purveyor of knowledge and information, but to help students contextualize why historical truth matters and how white privilege allows people to feel neutral and indifferent about slavery. Removed or neutral feelings about slavery are artifacts of white supremacy. Slavery isn’t something that should be taught only as a part of a unit on European Exploration and Colonization of the Americas. The Atlantic Slave Trade defines the American experience for all of us. The modern history of this entire hemisphere and of the entire world is defined by it. In my 10th and 11th grade classes, students do have questions about slavery and the slave trade. Unfortunately, they often sound a bit like this: “It happened, it was bad, but should we really worry that much about it? Do we really know what slavery was like? Do we really need to talk about it that much? Does it really affect people living in the 21st century?” This trip to Barbados, and the humanities moment that I had there only reaffirmed my belief that the answer to all of those questions is: YES.
A sign that I photographed while on the Atlantic coast of the island.
Kristen Wilson 30 years old, history teacher in Albemarle County, Virginia
overlooked-histories
The Burden of Sugar
Visiting a sugar mill on the coast of Barbados, I wondered how far humans are willing to go for the everyday resources I take for granted. What are we willing to do to the environment or other human beings for sugar, salt, and electricity? In this image, you see the only wind-powered sugar mill still operational on Barbados from the 17th and 18th centuries. These sugar mills once existed by the dozen across the island of Barbados, acting as the technological backbone of the lucrative sugar industry. I focused in on the backside of the windmill because this is where you can see the reasonably advanced technology behind a brutal enterprise. On the tour, our guide pointed to the long wooden rod and noted that six to eight female slaves would have to lift and move this rod until the windmill was most efficiently moving in the wind. Weighing hundreds of pounds, I wondered if a more technologically advanced mechanism would have removed this burden… and if the development of technology would have eventually eliminated the need for slave labor altogether. But in this moment, I thought of Eli Whitney and his cotton gin. Invented with the hope of reducing the demand for slave labor, the cotton gin only made harvesting cotton more urgent. With sugar as one of the main staples in my American diet, I can only imagine that the demand for sugar has increased in recent years. Though my hope is that there is no place in the world today where the life expectancy of a laborer is only three years like that on these plantations… I do feel the need to consider who bears the burden of the resources that support my life. Does technology reduce the burden or simply shift the burden somewhere else? Did the development of the sugar mill reduce the cruelty of the slave trade or make the task more urgent? How far are we willing to go for our resources in modern society?
June 2018
Patricia Garvey, 23, Earth Science and Astronomy teacher
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The Emancipation Act of 1834 and our Shared Freedom Story
“To be honest, I’m glad my family didn’t go to America. We ended slavery 30 years earlier. What were YOU guys thinking?”
Our Bajan tour guide of St. Nicholas Abbey told us this as we walked through the sugarcane plantation house. She chuckled, and we along with her, albeit awkwardly. She was right, too; the day before, our research group got to actually leaf through the Emancipation Act of 1834, the physical document that started the process of freedom in Barbados. THE original document! We all casually crowded around the pages and touched them with are bare hands. Compare that with the Declaration of Independence, which literally had a whole movie made about how impossible it would be to steal that document.
The concepts of freedom and liberation are remarkable, almost overwhelming to think about. As such I, along with many others, anchor these to our own experiences. I interact with freedom and liberation in an uniquely American way; I talk about the First Amendment with my US History students, and we discuss the Emancipation Proclamation as a seminal moment in the American story. However, sometimes this lens leads me to think that freedom itself is uniquely American. When I hear the word freedom, and mind immediately jumps to the Stars and Stripes. This, of course, is ridiculous. We didn’t invent freedom; in fact, we were pretty late to the party.
The communities we grew up in shape our worldview. Often, they give us a nearsightedness with regards to monumental events and processes. There are freedom stories from all over the world; it is our job, as global citizens, to learn and grow from them. Therefore, we can better understand and appreciate how each of our communities’ narratives fits within a far greater, and far richer, story.
The Emancipation Act of 1834
June 2018
Chris Cantone, 24, US History and World History I teacher at Albemarle High School in Albemarle County, Virginia
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The Only Person of Color in the Room
<p>At 95, Betty Reid Soskin is the oldest active U.S. Park Ranger. Having lived through wars, racial segregation, and other turbulent times in our history, she says empathy and world peace are possible through the humanities.</p>
<p>To celebrate its 40th year anniversary of grant making, programming, and partnerships that connect Californians to each other, California Humanities invited a group of 40 prominent Californians to explore what the humanities mean to them. For more information visit <a href="http://calhum.org/about/we-are-the-humanities" title="California Humanities: We Are the Humanities" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">California Humanities: We Are the Humanities</a>.</p>
California Humanities
Betty Reid Soskin, U.S. National Park Service Ranger
<a href="https://www.youtube.com/static?template=terms">Standard YouTube License</a>
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To Pimp a Butterfly
Some would say music is the most powerful of the arts. The album <em>To Pimp A Butterfly</em> by Kendrick Lamar is just that, powerful. The overall theme of the album revolves around the black experience in America. This album is an emotional, gut wrenching roller coaster. With George Clinton and Thundercat production, <em>To Pimp A Butterfly</em> has an authentic Afro-Funk sound to compliment the layered, complex subject matter in the lyrics. Kendrick speaks in depth about how having slave ancestors affects him in an honest and vulnerable way without compromising strength. <br /><br />This album made me question whether I had spent enough time thinking about the effects of over 400 years of slavery. I highly recommend this album to everyone interested in the American black experience!!!
<em>To Pimp a Butterfly</em> by Kendrick Lamar
2015
Alex Azzi, Student at TAMU
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Transformation of an Island
My source of inspiration came from a lecture on paintings and images of slave society presented at the Barbados National Museum. The painting by Issac Sailmaker entitled "Island of Barbados" visually depicts the transformation of the island's geography due to the creation of sugar plantations in 1694. Sugar not only transformed the physical landscape of this mostly uninhabited land, but also would impact the social, political, and economic institutions that were created as a result. This painting symbolizes the totality of sugar on this small island and sets the stage for the ensuing nickname, "Britain's crowned jewel." One of the reasons I was drawn to this painting for inspiration is due to my own experiences on the island over the last week of learning and exploring. Driving through the different parishes and seeing how the landscape differs in various regions is a stark contrast to this image from 1694 showing mostly port cities and the beginning of European transformation on the interior to create space for large scale sugar farming. When looking at maps from the 18th and 19th centuries, the island of Barbados is transformed even more due to the profits and demand for sugar in a new global economy. This image is a snapshot of an island in transition, but lacks the conflict and division sugar production will create in the future. The profits from sugar will create a hierarchy between plantation owners and those working the fields and mills as slaves. Although this image depicts the beginning of British influence and domination over the island of Barbados, the narrative will continue to evolve as sugar projection reaches an all-time high and the thirst for profit will result in the dehumanization of an entire group of people.
Isaac Sailmaker
The painting <em>Island of Barbados</em> by Isaac Sailmaker
June 19, 2018
Caroline Bare, 38, Social Studies teacher
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Why We Always Come Back to Abraham Lincoln
Ken Burns describes how lines from a historic speech given by 29-year-old Abraham Lincoln have “haunted and inspired” him for nearly 40 years. Expanding on what is revealed in those sentences, Burns discusses how they speak not only to Lincoln’s basic character and optimism, qualities that proved essential to his presidency. He goes on to note that Lincoln’s words, here and elsewhere, are suggestive of what is best in the American character.<br /><br />“A handful of sentences” from Lincoln’s 1838 Springfield speech on national security left a deep imprint on the filmmaker’s own philosophy. For Burns, Lincoln’s narrative illustrates how, as a nation, we are “still stitched together by words and, most important, their dangerous progeny, ideas.” Time and again, Lincoln’s eloquence and vision has guided Burns as he enlists documentary film to tell the story of the United States and its citizens.
Abraham Lincoln's 1838 speech on national security delivered in Springfield, Illinois
Ken Burns, documentary filmmaker
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