In "How the Word Is Passed," author Clint Smith takes readers on a journey through America's complex and often painful relationship with slavery and its lasting impact. This book is not just a historical account, but a deeply personal exploration of how the legacy of slavery continues to shape the United States today.
Smith visits nine significant locations, each offering a unique perspective on how slavery is remembered, commemorated, or sometimes deliberately forgotten. From his hometown of New Orleans to the shores of Senegal, he examines how different places grapple with their connections to slavery and how this history is presented to the public.
Through vivid descriptions, thoughtful interviews, and personal reflections, Smith invites readers to confront uncomfortable truths about America's past and consider how these truths continue to influence the present. He challenges us to think critically about the stories we tell ourselves about our history and to consider the consequences of ignoring or misrepresenting the realities of slavery.
As we follow Smith on his journey, we'll encounter a wide range of perspectives, from those working to bring hidden histories to light to those clinging to romanticized versions of the past. We'll see how the echoes of slavery can be found in unexpected places, from prison labor to financial institutions, and how the struggle to reckon with this history is ongoing.
This book is not just about the past; it's about how we understand ourselves as a nation and how we choose to move forward. It's a call to face our history honestly and to consider what it means to truly reckon with the legacy of slavery in America.
New Orleans: Uncovering Hidden Histories
Smith begins his journey in his hometown of New Orleans, a city steeped in history and culture, but also deeply marked by its role in the slave trade. As dusk falls over the French Quarter, the author meets with Leon A. Waters, a local historian and activist who has dedicated his life to uncovering and sharing the hidden history of slavery in the city.
Waters leads Smith on a tour that reveals a side of New Orleans often overlooked by tourists and even many locals. They pass by the Omni Royal Orleans Hotel, which stands on the site of the former St. Louis Hotel, once a bustling slave market where human beings were bought and sold like commodities. The tour continues through Jackson Square, a popular tourist destination that was also the site of brutal executions of enslaved people who dared to rebel against their oppressors.
As they walk, Waters points out newly installed plaques that acknowledge the city's connections to slavery. These small markers represent a significant shift in how New Orleans is beginning to confront its past. For years, the city's role as the largest slave market in America was largely ignored or glossed over. Now, thanks to the efforts of activists like Waters and groups like Take 'Em Down NOLA, there's a growing movement to bring these hidden histories to light.
Smith reflects on his own lack of knowledge about his hometown's history, despite growing up there. It wasn't until the removal of the statue of Confederate general Robert E. Lee in 2017 that he began to seriously consider how the city grappled with its history of slavery. This personal revelation underscores a broader point about how history is often selectively remembered or deliberately forgotten.
The tour ends on Marigny Street, where Smith's parents now live. The street is named after Bernard de Marigny, a man who owned over 150 enslaved people. This seemingly mundane detail serves as a powerful reminder of how deeply ingrained the legacy of slavery is in the fabric of the city. As historian Walter Johnson put it, "The whole city is a memorial to slavery."
Smith's exploration of New Orleans sets the stage for the rest of his journey. It illustrates how the legacy of slavery is not confined to history books or museums but is woven into the very streets we walk on and the buildings we pass by every day. It also highlights the ongoing struggle to acknowledge and reckon with this history, a theme that will recur throughout the book.
The New Orleans chapter serves as a microcosm of the larger American story. It shows how the country's history of white supremacy and racial oppression is often hidden in plain sight, waiting to be uncovered by those willing to look beyond the surface. As Smith prepares to visit other sites across the country, he carries with him the lessons learned in his hometown: that history is complex, often uncomfortable, and always present, even when we try to ignore it.
Monticello Plantation: Confronting the Contradictions of Thomas Jefferson
From New Orleans, Smith's journey takes him to Monticello, the sprawling plantation home of Thomas Jefferson in Virginia. As he approaches the 11,000-square-foot mansion, Smith is struck by the contrast between its grandeur and the dark history it represents.
The tour group, mostly white visitors, appears visibly uncomfortable as guide David Thorson begins to discuss the realities of slavery at Monticello. This discomfort is telling, reflecting the broader American struggle to reconcile the ideals of the nation's founders with their participation in the brutal system of slavery.
Jefferson, the author of the Declaration of Independence and champion of liberty, was also a man who owned, sold, and exploited enslaved people. Smith learns that Jefferson's records show he sold, leased, and mortgaged enslaved individuals to pay off his debts. The forced labor of these people built and maintained his lavish lifestyle, allowing him to pursue his interests in reading, writing, and entertaining guests.
One of the most disturbing aspects of Jefferson's history at Monticello is his relationship with Sally Hemings, a Black woman he enslaved. Beginning when Hemings was just 16 and Jefferson was in his mid-forties, their sexual relationship lasted nearly four decades and produced six children. Smith notes that this wasn't a romantic relationship as some have tried to frame it, but a clear abuse of power - Hemings, as an enslaved person, had no ability to refuse Jefferson's advances.
The tour guide, David, doesn't shy away from these uncomfortable truths. He explains that Jefferson was aware of the moral corruption inherent in slavery, writing that it had "an unhappy influence on the manners of our people." Yet, despite this awareness, Jefferson's personal desires and economic interests ultimately trumped his moral ideals. He continued to own slaves and even expressed beliefs in the inferiority of Black people.
Smith observes how the Thomas Jefferson Foundation, which manages Monticello, has made efforts in recent years to present a more comprehensive and honest view of Jefferson. The Getting Word oral history project, started in 1993, has collected stories from descendants of Monticello's enslaved population, adding crucial perspectives to the historical narrative. Tour guides are now evaluated on their ability to balance truth with sensitivity, recognizing the challenge of presenting this complex history to visitors who may have idealized views of Jefferson.
David's approach to the tour is particularly noteworthy. Recognizing that slavery can be an abstract concept for many white visitors, he humanizes the enslaved people of Monticello. He describes the games children played on Sunday afternoons and the songs workers sang into the night. By emphasizing the humanity and the desire for a full life among the enslaved population, David helps visitors connect emotionally with this difficult history.
The impact of this approach is evident in the reactions of the tour group. Two self-described Republican women are visibly grappling with this new information, saying, "You grow up and it's... He's a great man, and he did all this. But... this really took the shine off the guy." This moment of personal reckoning illustrates the power of confronting historical truths, even when they challenge long-held beliefs.
David's reflection on the difference between history and nostalgia is particularly insightful. He explains that history is the story of the past based on available facts, while nostalgia is a made-up fantasy. Memory, he suggests, floats somewhere in between, mixing fact and emotion. This distinction is crucial for understanding how Americans often engage with their past, especially when it comes to figures like Jefferson.
The Monticello chapter serves as a powerful exploration of the contradictions at the heart of American history. It challenges readers to confront the complexity of historical figures like Jefferson, resisting the urge to either completely vilify or blindly venerate them. Instead, it encourages a nuanced understanding that acknowledges both their contributions and their grave moral failings.
Moreover, this section of the book highlights the ongoing process of historical reckoning. The efforts at Monticello to present a more complete picture of Jefferson and the lives of the enslaved people he owned represent a broader movement in American society to confront uncomfortable truths about the past. It shows that while this process can be difficult and emotionally challenging, it's necessary for a fuller understanding of our history and its impact on the present.
The Whitney Plantation: Centering the Experiences of the Enslaved
Smith's next stop is the Whitney Plantation in Wallace, Louisiana, where he encounters a starkly different approach to presenting the history of slavery. Unlike many plantation museums that focus on the lives of the white owners and the grandeur of the main house, the Whitney centers its narrative on the experiences of the enslaved people who lived and worked there.
The visit begins with a powerful and disturbing sight: ceramic statues depicting the severed heads of 55 Black men, mounted on pikes. This gruesome display represents the aftermath of the 1811 German Coast Uprising, the largest slave rebellion in U.S. history. The rebellion, which saw hundreds of enslaved people march toward New Orleans, was brutally suppressed, with the leaders executed and their heads displayed as a warning to others. This stark representation immediately sets the tone for the Whitney's unflinching approach to the realities of slavery.
Inside the plantation's church, Smith is confronted with another powerful installation: dozens of life-sized sculptures of enslaved children. These haunting figures serve as a reminder of the central role children played in the institution of slavery, particularly after the transatlantic slave trade was outlawed in 1808. By 1860, nearly 4 million people were enslaved in the U.S., with over half under the age of 20. The sculptures bring home the human cost of slavery in a visceral way, making it impossible to ignore the suffering of these young lives.
The tour at Whitney doesn't shy away from the most brutal aspects of slavery. Smith learns about the practice of keeping enslaved women as "breeders," forced to bear children who would either be kept as workers or sold for profit. This horrifying reality meant that many plantation owners were essentially enslaving their own children. The tour also touches on the exploitation of enslaved bodies even after death, with top medical schools using the cadavers of enslaved people for research and education.
However, Yvonne Holden, the Whitney's director of operations, emphasizes that while it's crucial to acknowledge the horrors of slavery, it's equally important to highlight the resilience and achievements of enslaved people. She wants visitors to see the enslaved not just as victims, but as strong, determined individuals who made significant contributions to American culture, economy, and scientific advancement despite unimaginable oppression.
This approach at the Whitney stands in stark contrast to many other plantation museums in Louisiana, which often downplay the brutality of slavery or even rent out their spaces for weddings and other celebrations. The Whitney's commitment to telling the full, unvarnished truth about slavery represents a significant shift in how this history is presented to the public.
Smith also learns about the ongoing impact of this history on the descendants of enslaved people in the area. Many live in communities surrounding the Whitney that are now populated by petrochemical plants, resulting in some of the highest cancer risks in the country. This contemporary injustice serves as a stark reminder that the legacy of slavery continues to shape lives today.
The Whitney Plantation chapter underscores the importance of how we choose to remember and present history. By centering the experiences of the enslaved and refusing to sugarcoat the brutalities of the system, the Whitney offers a model for how other historical sites might approach difficult histories. It challenges visitors to confront uncomfortable truths and consider how the echoes of slavery continue to resonate in modern America.
Moreover, this section of the book highlights the power of physical spaces and objects in conveying historical truths. The ceramic heads, the sculptures of children, and the preserved slave cabins all serve as tangible connections to a past that can often feel distant or abstract. They force visitors to confront the human cost of slavery in a way that textbooks or lectures might not.
Through his visit to the Whitney, Smith illustrates how a honest and comprehensive approach to presenting the history of slavery can foster a deeper understanding of both the past and the present. It shows that while confronting this history can be painful, it's necessary for a full reckoning with America's past and for addressing ongoing inequities rooted in the legacy of slavery.
Angola Prison: The Persistence of Slavery in the Criminal Justice System
Smith's journey takes a sobering turn as he visits the Louisiana State Penitentiary, commonly known as Angola. This maximum-security prison, built on the site of a former plantation, serves as a stark reminder of how the legacy of slavery persists within the American criminal justice system.
The trip to Angola is particularly poignant as Smith is accompanied by Norris Henderson, a former inmate who spent 27 years in the prison for a crime he didn't commit. Henderson's presence adds a deeply personal dimension to the visit, providing firsthand insight into the realities of life inside Angola.
As they approach the prison, Smith is struck by the irony of its location. Angola sits on land that once belonged to Isaac Franklin, who ran one of the country's largest slave-trading operations. This historical connection sets the stage for exploring how the prison system, particularly in the South, evolved as a means to maintain control over Black populations after the abolition of slavery.
The tour reveals disturbing parallels between slavery and the modern prison system. Smith learns that when Henderson first arrived at Angola, he had to work for six months just to pay off the cost of his prison clothes. After that, he earned a mere seven cents an hour picking cotton. This exploitation of prison labor echoes the convict leasing system that emerged after the Civil War, where imprisoned individuals (predominantly Black men) were "rented out" to work on plantations and build railroads under horrific conditions.
The prison museum presents a troubling narrative, seeming to glorify or normalize the institution rather than critically examining its history and practices. A gift shop sells mugs emblazoned with images of guard towers, treating the largest maximum-security prison in the U.S. as a tourist attraction. Even more disturbingly, Angola is the only prison that allows people to tour death row, an invasion of privacy that makes Smith feel complicit in the dehumanization of the inmates.
Perhaps most striking is what goes unsaid during the official tour. The guide makes no mention of Angola's history as a plantation or the parallels between chattel slavery and the convict leasing system. There's no acknowledgment that 71 percent of Angola's inmates are serving life sentences, or that three-quarters of the prison population is Black. This selective presentation of information illustrates how institutions can perpetuate harmful narratives by choosing what aspects of history to highlight or ignore.
The visit to Angola forces readers to confront uncomfortable truths about the American criminal justice system. It illustrates how the 13th Amendment, while officially abolishing slavery, left a loophole for involuntary servitude as punishment for crime. This loophole has been exploited to create a system of mass incarceration that disproportionately affects Black Americans, effectively continuing many of the oppressive practices of slavery under a different name.
Smith's experience at Angola underscores the importance of understanding history as a continuum rather than a series of discrete events. The practices at Angola didn't emerge in a vacuum; they're the result of a long history of racial oppression that has evolved and adapted over time. By drawing these connections, Smith challenges readers to see how the past continues to shape the present in profound and often overlooked ways.
The Angola chapter also raises important questions about how we as a society choose to remember and memorialize difficult histories. The prison's approach of treating itself as a tourist attraction, complete with gift shop memorabilia, stands in stark contrast to the somber reflection that such a place should inspire. It serves as a cautionary tale about the dangers of normalizing or trivializing systems of oppression.
As Smith watches Black inmates working in the fields from the departing bus, he feels as though he's caught in a time warp. This powerful image encapsulates the central message of the Angola visit: that for many Black Americans, the oppressive systems of the past are not truly past at all, but continue to shape their lives in profound and devastating ways.
Through his visit to Angola, Smith compels readers to consider how the legacy of slavery persists in modern institutions, particularly within the criminal justice system. He challenges us to look beyond surface-level reforms and consider how deeply ingrained patterns of racial oppression continue to shape American society. The Angola chapter serves as a powerful call to action, urging readers to confront these uncomfortable truths and work towards genuine, systemic change.
Blandford Cemetery: The Persistence of Confederate Mythology
Smith's exploration takes him to Blandford Cemetery in Petersburg, Virginia, a site that encapsulates the complex and often contradictory ways in which the American South remembers and memorializes its Confederate past. This visit provides a stark illustration of how historical narratives can be shaped and distorted to serve particular ideological purposes.
As Smith walks through the cemetery, he's immediately struck by a jarring sight: Black men pushing lawn mowers around gravestones adorned with Confederate flags. This image serves as a powerful metaphor for the ongoing racial dynamics in the South, where Black labor continues to maintain symbols of a regime that fought to keep their ancestors enslaved.
The cemetery itself is a testament to the power of collective memory and myth-making. Established after the Civil War by the Ladies' Memorial Association, Blandford Cemetery became the final resting place for nearly 30,000 Confederate soldiers. The old church on the grounds was transformed into a memorial, featuring stained-glass windows honoring the fallen from each Confederate state.
However, Smith notes the cruel irony of this memorialization. Just feet from where these windows celebrate an army built to perpetuate slavery, the Battle of the Crater took place. During this infamous battle, white soldiers under Robert E. Lee's command brutally executed 200 Black Union soldiers who were attempting to surrender, enraged by the sight of Black men in uniform.
When Smith questions how the cemetery reconciles presenting these symbols of Confederate commemoration without addressing the cause they fought for, he receives a telling response: "We try and fall back on the beauty of the windows." This evasion exemplifies a broader tendency in some parts of the South to focus on aesthetics and supposed heritage while avoiding confrontation with the ugly realities of the Confederacy's purpose.
The visit to Blandford Cemetery allows Smith to delve into the phenomenon of the "Lost Cause," a movement that gained traction in the defeated South following the Civil War. This ideology sought to reframe the Confederacy's motivations, asserting that the war wasn't about slavery but about states' rights and Southern honor. It portrayed slavery as a benign institution and laid the groundwork for Jim Crow laws.
Smith points out the blatant falsehood of this narrative by referencing the Confederate states' own declarations of secession, which explicitly cited the preservation of slavery as their primary motivation. Yet, organizations like the Sons of Confederate Veterans, with a current membership of 30,000, continue to propagate myths about the Confederacy, even going so far as to claim that Black soldiers fought for the Southern cause.
The persistence of these narratives is evident in the broader landscape of Confederate memorialization. Smith notes that as of 2019, there were about 2,000 Confederate monuments across the U.S., many of which were erected long after the Civil War, during periods of heightened racial tension. These monuments, often maintained with taxpayer money, serve as physical manifestations of a distorted historical narrative.
At a Memorial Day event held by the Sons of Confederate Veterans, Smith observes how historical truth is casually disregarded in favor of comforting myths. The group's commander shares an account of the first Memorial Day that he admits might not be true, but he likes it anyway. This willingness to prioritize appealing narratives over historical accuracy is emblematic of the broader issues surrounding Confederate memorialization.
The Blandford Cemetery chapter serves as a powerful exploration of how history can be manipulated and mythologized to serve particular ideological ends. It illustrates how the Lost Cause narrative has shaped public memory in ways that continue to influence contemporary debates about race and history in America.
Moreover, this section of the book raises important questions about the role of public spaces and monuments in shaping our understanding of history. The continued presence of Confederate monuments and symbols in public spaces sends a message about whose history is valued and whose experiences are centered in the American narrative.
Through his visit to Blandford Cemetery, Smith challenges readers to think critically about the stories we tell ourselves about our past. He urges us to confront the uncomfortable truths that lie beneath surface-level narratives and to consider how these distortions of history continue to shape our present. The chapter serves as a call for a more honest and comprehensive engagement with America's complex and often painful history.
Galveston Island: The Birth of Juneteenth and the Long Road to Freedom
Smith's journey brings him to Galveston Island, Texas, the birthplace of Juneteenth - a day that marks a pivotal moment in the history of American slavery and freedom. This visit provides a poignant exploration of how emancipation unfolded and how it is commemorated today.
The chapter opens with a reenactment of the moment on June 19, 1865, when Union General Gordon Granger stood on the balcony of Ashton Villa and declared that all slaves in Texas were free. This scene, while not historically accurate in its details, has become a powerful symbol of emancipation and is recreated annually as part of Galveston's Juneteenth celebrations.
Smith observes the deep emotional impact this reenactment has on the audience. Some shake, some smile with closed eyes, others embrace. This visceral reaction underscores how deeply this history resonates with many Americans, particularly those whose ancestors experienced enslavement.
The timing of Granger's announcement - more than two months after the Confederate surrender and a full two years after the Emancipation Proclamation - highlights the uneven and prolonged process of ending slavery in the United States. Smith learns that many enslaved people in remote parts of Texas didn't hear about their freedom for weeks, months, or even years after Granger's proclamation. This delay serves as a stark reminder of how freedom was not granted in a single moment, but was a gradual and often violent process.
The Juneteenth celebration in Galveston, which became an official state holiday in Texas in 1979, represents a significant milestone in the official recognition of Black emancipation in the United States. Smith reflects on the words of Frederick Douglass, who famously declared that the Fourth of July was not a day of celebration for enslaved people. Juneteenth, in contrast, serves as an "Independence Day" for Black Americans.
During the celebration, Smith listens to local students deliver a chronology of the history of enslavement. This educational component of the event underscores the importance of passing on this history to younger generations. Sue Johnson, director of the Nia Cultural Center's Freedom School, emphasizes how understanding their past provides youth with tools to navigate their present and future.
The speeches delivered by local politicians, event organizers, and community leaders highlight the ongoing significance of Juneteenth. Grant Mitchell, a white man whose family has long sponsored the event, speaks about the need for continued reflection and progress towards justice. This inclusion of white voices in the celebration points to the potential for Juneteenth to serve as a day of reckoning and reconciliation for all Americans.
However, Smith also notes the challenges that persisted even after emancipation. Formerly enslaved people were not provided with resources to become socially or economically mobile, leading to enduring disparities. He points out that despite the significant role Black Americans played in building the country's wealth, they own less than 4 percent of it today. This stark statistic serves as a reminder of the long-lasting economic impacts of slavery and the incomplete nature of emancipation.
The Galveston Island chapter provides a nuanced look at the complexities of freedom and the ongoing process of reckoning with the legacy of slavery. It illustrates how Juneteenth has evolved from a local Texas celebration to a day of national significance, recently recognized as a federal holiday.
Through his exploration of Juneteenth, Smith invites readers to consider the multi-faceted nature of emancipation and its aftermath. He challenges us to think about what true freedom means and how the promise of emancipation has or hasn't been fulfilled in the years since 1865.
This section of the book also raises important questions about how we choose to remember and commemorate pivotal moments in our history. The Juneteenth celebrations in Galveston offer a model for how communities can engage with difficult histories in ways that are both educational and healing.
By focusing on Juneteenth, Smith highlights an often overlooked chapter in American history, one that centers Black experiences and resilience. He encourages readers to expand their understanding of American independence and freedom, recognizing that these concepts have meant different things to different groups throughout the nation's history.
New York City: Unveiling the North's Complicity in Slavery
Smith's exploration takes an unexpected turn as he joins a walking tour in New York City, uncovering the often-overlooked history of slavery in the North. This chapter challenges the common narrative that positions the North as uniformly opposed to slavery, revealing instead a complex web of complicity and profit.
The tour, led by guide Damaras Obi, begins at the National Museum of the American Indian. Obi immediately challenges participants' understanding of slavery by explaining that while various forms of enslavement have existed throughout history, New World chattel slavery was uniquely rooted in a racial caste system. This system, based on the European idea that Africans were inherently subhuman, formed the foundation for American slavery.
As the group moves through Lower Manhattan, Smith learns that slavery was introduced to the area as early as 1626. Enslaved people cleared forests, constructed homes, and built the foundations of the city's infrastructure. By the start of the Civil War in 1861, slavery had been a part of New York for over 200 years, with enslaved workers comprising more than 25% of the labor force at times - more than any other urban area in the colonies.
The tour stops at the intersection of Water and Wall Streets, where a small plaque marks the site of a historic slave market that operated from 1711 to 1762. This seemingly unremarkable corner was once a hub of human trafficking, a stark reminder of how deeply embedded slavery was in the city's early economy.
Smith is particularly struck by the revelation of how New York's financial industry was intertwined with every aspect of the slave trade. Businessmen built ships, transported cotton, and manufactured clothes for enslaved workers. The tour arrives at the New York Stock Exchange, symbolizing the economic power built on the backs of enslaved people.
However, the tour also highlights stories of resistance and the role New York played in the Underground Railroad. Smith learns about the Tappan brothers, wealthy merchants who used their fortunes to support local abolitionists, and Thomas Downing, a free Black man who ran an oyster house that served as a stop on the Underground Railroad.
The final stop on the tour is the African Burial Ground, a site that remained hidden for centuries until it was rediscovered during construction in 1990. This burial ground, used from the 1690s to 1795, is a testament to the presence and perseverance of enslaved Africans in early New York. Its discovery challenged the popular belief that there was no slavery in colonial New York, forcing a reevaluation of the city's history.
Even the Statue of Liberty, Smith learns, bears traces of this history. Early designs for the statue included broken shackles as a celebration of abolition. While the final design opted for a more subtle approach, pieces of a broken shackle and chain can still be found at Liberty's feet, partly hidden beneath her robe.
This chapter serves as a powerful corrective to the often-sanitized version of Northern history. It challenges the self-righteous attitude many Northerners hold about slavery, revealing instead a history of deep complicity. New York, like many Northern cities, profited immensely from the slave trade and the labor of enslaved people, even as it positioned itself as a beacon of freedom.
Smith's exploration of New York's slave history underscores the importance of confronting uncomfortable truths about our past. It illustrates how the legacy of slavery is not confined to the South, but is woven into the very fabric of American society, including in places often thought of as bastions of progressivism.
Moreover, this chapter highlights the power of public history and education in reshaping our understanding of the past. The walking tour, the plaques marking sites of significance, and the African Burial Ground monument all serve as tools for bringing hidden histories to light and fostering a more comprehensive understanding of America's complex relationship with slavery.
Through his visit to New York, Smith challenges readers to expand their understanding of slavery's reach and impact. He encourages us to look beyond regional stereotypes and to recognize how the institution of slavery shaped the entire nation, economically, socially, and culturally. This broader perspective is crucial for understanding the pervasive and long-lasting effects of slavery on American society.
Gorée Island: Confronting the Origins of the Transatlantic Slave Trade
Smith's journey culminates with a visit to Gorée Island, off the coast of Senegal, a place that played a pivotal role in the transatlantic slave trade from the 16th to the 19th centuries. This final stop provides a powerful bookend to his exploration, connecting the American experience of slavery to its African origins and forcing a confrontation with the full scope of this horrific chapter in human history.
As Smith arrives on the island, he's struck by the contrast between its serene beauty and its dark history. Gorée, with its swaying palm trees and gentle waves, seems worlds away from the bustling city of Dakar. Yet this tranquil setting was once a main hub for the transport of enslaved Africans to the New World, a crucial link in the chain of the slave trade.
The centerpiece of Gorée's historical narrative is the Maison des Esclaves, or House of Slaves. Once the residence of a slave trader, it now serves as a museum and memorial. Smith learns about Boubacar Joseph Ndiaye, a Gorée native who was instrumental in documenting the house's history and conceiving the idea of the "Door of No Return" - a symbolic portal through which millions of Africans were said to have passed on their way to enslavement in the Americas.
The House of Slaves' curator, Eloi Coly, provides Smith with crucial insights into the psychological aspects of the slave trade. Coly explains how Europeans sought to justify their actions by dehumanizing Africans, viewing them as merchandise rather than human beings. This process of dehumanization, Coly argues, had a profound and lasting impact on both the enslaved and the enslavers.
However, Coly's mission goes beyond simply recounting the horrors of the slave trade. He emphasizes the importance of remembering who Africans were before enslavement - and who they are despite it. "Africans have to know that the starting point was Africa," he tells Smith, highlighting the need for a narrative that doesn't begin and end with slavery, but acknowledges the rich cultures and histories that existed before and continued to evolve after.
Smith grapples with the complexities of historical memory as he learns that some aspects of Gorée's narrative have been exaggerated over time. Scholars estimate that about 33,000 enslaved people passed through Gorée - a significant number, but far fewer than the millions sometimes claimed. The "Door of No Return" likely never actually led directly to ships, but was probably used for waste disposal.
When confronted with these discrepancies, Coly offers a powerful perspective: "The number of slaves is not important when you talk about memory... One slave is too much." This statement encapsulates a crucial aspect of how we engage with difficult histories - that the human cost and moral implications can transcend precise numbers.
Standing before the Door of No Return, looking out at the vast ocean, Smith reflects on whether a place can still be a site of memory for a larger truth, even if it misstates certain facts. This question gets to the heart of how we construct and engage with historical narratives, especially those dealing with traumatic events.
The Gorée Island chapter serves as a powerful conclusion to Smith's journey, bringing the story of American slavery full circle to its African origins. It forces readers to confront the global nature of the slave trade and its far-reaching impacts on multiple continents.
Moreover, this final stop underscores the importance of how we choose to remember and memorialize difficult histories. The transformation of the House of Slaves from a site of oppression to a place of education and reflection offers a model for how other historical sites might grapple with painful pasts.
Through his visit to Gorée, Smith invites readers to consider the broader context of the American slave trade and its connections to Africa. He challenges us to think about how we construct narratives about the past, and what responsibilities we have in preserving and presenting these histories.
The chapter also raises important questions about the role of tourism in sites of historical trauma. As a destination for everyone from Angela Davis to multiple U.S. presidents, Gorée Island has become a place of pilgrimage and reckoning. Smith's account encourages readers to consider how we engage with such sites and what we take away from these encounters with difficult histories.
Epilogue: Personal Reflections and the Ongoing Journey of Understanding
In the epilogue, Smith turns his focus inward, exploring his own family history and its connections to the broader narrative of slavery in America. This personal reflection serves as a powerful conclusion to his journey, illustrating how the legacy of slavery continues to shape individual lives and families.
Smith interviews his living grandparents - his mother's father and his father's mother - and is shocked to learn something he'd never known before: his grandfather's grandfather had been enslaved. This revelation brings the history he's been exploring throughout the book into sharp, personal focus.
Together with his grandparents, Smith visits the National Museum of African American History and Culture (NMAAHC) in Washington, D.C. This museum, which puts Black experiences at the center of America's narrative, becomes a backdrop for his grandparents to share their own stories and memories.
As they walk through the exhibits, Smith's grandfather recounts growing up in 1930s Mississippi, a state where lynchings were common. He speaks of the palpable segregation and the fear instilled by "night riders" - mounted white supremacist vigilantes who terrorized Black communities. Yet, he also shares a story of hope: how his academic gifts were recognized by his elementary school principal, who ensured he could attend high school even if it meant sending him to live in another county.
Smith's grandmother, born in Florida in 1939, describes her visit to the museum as "really depressing." For her, the exhibits aren't just history - they're a reflection of her lived experiences. She remembers the segregation she faced in every aspect of daily life, from restaurants to public transportation. Her words, "I lived it," serve as both an affirmation of the museum's portrayal and a stark reminder of how recent this history is.
These personal stories from his grandparents become, for Smith, living monuments to the history of slavery and its aftermath. They bridge the gap between the historical sites he's visited and the present day, illustrating how the legacy of slavery continues to shape individual lives and families.
Smith's personal exploration in the epilogue underscores a central theme of the book: that history is not just something that happened in the past, but a force that continues to shape our present and future. By connecting his family's experiences to the broader narrative of American slavery and its aftermath, he illustrates how deeply intertwined personal and national histories can be.
The epilogue also serves as a powerful reminder of the importance of oral history and personal narratives in understanding the past. While official records and historical sites provide crucial information, it's often the stories passed down through families that bring history to life and make its impacts tangible.
Moreover, Smith's conversations with his grandparents highlight the generational nature of historical trauma and resilience. Their storie