Slavery as Motivation

by Mary Flamer

 See my family in the church picture in Charles Town circa 1900. I love those brown faces of determination and purpose. There is Aunt Rosa, second row, second from the left, with the peaceful face who out of tremendous fear held the bumper of a car to keep it from careening off a mountain with her sister, my Aunt Lil. She is in the first row second from the left. My grandfather is to her right and my grandmother is behind him to the right. His brother is to his right. Where’s Uncle Doc? He was motivated to become a Baptist

After our panel discussion on racism, Traces of the Trade, and the Episcopal Church, I had some reflections. I view slavery as a time in history among many times that we should uses its lessons to prepare our future. In Washington, DC where I grew up, I was constantly exposed to the history of slavery in school, church or at the historical sites. Frederick Douglass’ house was in our community. Slavery became a lesson of motivation, not a handicap.

Our family is from Charles Town and Fairmount, West Virginia, a southern state. Fairmount is near Pittsburgh and Charles Town is an hour and half north of Washington.

We frequently visited my aunts who retired to the family home in Charles Town. We would ride through the rural county of Loudon Virginia where stone fences marked the borders of properties. Without fail, Uncle Doc would use those fences to launch into a lecture on the history of slavery and the contributions of slaves to American life. The story would drone on and be rejuvenated as we passed a sign for Harper’s Ferry, a battle ground for John Brown; continue with the site of the court house in Charles Town where John Brown was tried and found guilty, and conclude as we parked in front of Aunt Rosa and Aunt Lil’s house, within the shadows of Charles Washington’s home, George’s brother, who purportedly owned our descendants.

To this last point, it isn’t surprising that my family is Episcopalian. My family migrated from Charles Town to Fairmount, W.Va. They attended the African American church services of other denominations, but felt the need to have the Episcopal liturgy. So on Sunday mornings, they attended the services of their friends. In the evening, with the permission of the white Episcopal church, they held services in the back, near the entrance of the church in the chapel. They were not allowed to use the main sanctuary. As a very young child, I was fascinated by the large beautiful altar, the candelabras, and ornaments surrounding the cross. I would wonder in that direction when no one was looking, but never too close.

Our services were after Sunday dinner where I usually ate too much. While my aunts were preparing for the service one Sunday, I wondered over to the aisle and became ill. My Aunt Rosa never ceased to remind me how hard she struggled to remove the impenetrable stain from that red carpet. I like to think that was my revenge.

Eventually, my Aunt Rosa and my grandfather were able to build the foundation for an Episcopal Church in the African American section of Fairmount. I have a picture of my aunt and grandfather breaking ground on a snowy evening. I only worshipped in the basement of the church. Fifty years later, I don’t believe that the church survived.

Let’s get back to Uncle Doc. Neither he nor anyone else in my family was going to allow me to forget about slavery. If I got a “C,” I would hear, “Slaves didn’t struggle and die for you to do poorly in school.” If I complained about doing something, I would hear, “It was hard for slaves. This is the least you can do.” I was expected to help others, because slaves helped each other and so on. Like the perpetual stories of Uncle Doc, references to slave achievements were a constant theme. Later in life when the going got tough, I would inevitably think of slaves tilling and hoeing, and then realize that the task before me wasn’t difficult after all.

Slavery was horrendous, altered and continues to alter subsequent generations. Coming North, I missedmy roots and struggled in college. I studied slavery and African history with some renowned historians in college I attribute those studies, James Brown and pottery to my eventual college success.

History inevitably repeats itself throughout the generations, positively or negatively. In the spring of my daughter’s high school junior year, we visited Oberlin College. The college claims to have graduated the first African American. As my daughter and I stood in the campus quad of Oberlin, I asked her how she could not consider attending a college that honors the Underground Railroad with statute to the right and has an Apollo Theatre to the left. The college brochure has a picture of students dressed in 1800’s clothing reenacting the walk to freedom from the south to the north as their student project. That is slavery as motivation.

Throughout my daughter’s studies of Spanish cultures, she would relate to me how people of color are perceived in the Spanish literature. We would talk about the similarities and differences as compared to American literature.

We have a choice as to what we gain from slavery. We should always be mindful of the horrors of slavery so that we do not repeat them. But we should extricate ourselves from its detriments and be motivated by its lessons.