Chilling and engaging, Saidiya's quest, coupled with her pure and haunting prose, conveys the sting of slavery, which still floats in some of our veins. I applaud her for her honesty, courage, and compelling research. Her passages peel the scab of a vicious history as well as the fiery impulse to endure. As a descendant of slaves, I was sucked into this narrative immediately. These tales are so rare that when one does bubble to the surface it smacks like an unforeseen wave. I am so tired of folks screaming foul the second you mention a slave ship; that scar oozes in every aspect of United States' history. You could never weave a rug big enough to sweep away this ugly fact.
The most daunting moment in Ms. Hartman's work is when her search brutally ends at a slave owner's door. In working on my own project, which documents aspects of black Los Angeles, through photos and stories, I discovered lots of grave and magnificent facts. What struck me the most was the outrageous pillage of land. If you doubt me, look up Bruce Beach. Better yet, just press rewind on Katrina. I applaud places like Brown University which took the lead and created its own slavery museum displaying artifacts of the school's partnership with bondage. You cannot hide the truth, for it will only break through like a glorious wave. My grandmother was a runaway slave. This singular fact is the most defining aspect of who I am.
As another descendant of slaves, I found Ms. Hartman's work all too realistic. How we long for connection, and can never find it. Who were our ancestors? Where did they come from? Most importantly, how did they live and survive? All we know is that we are here now.
Chilling and engaging, Saidiya's quest, coupled with her pure and haunting prose, conveys the sting of slavery, which still floats in some of our veins. I applaud her for her honesty, courage, and compelling research. Her passages peel the scab of a vicious history as well as the fiery impulse to endure. As a descendant of slaves, I was sucked into this narrative immediately. These tales are so rare that when one does bubble to the surface it smacks like an unforeseen wave. I am so tired of folks screaming foul the second you mention a slave ship; that scar oozes in every aspect of United States' history. You could never weave a rug big enough to sweep away this ugly fact.
The most daunting moment in Ms. Hartman's work is when her search brutally ends at a slave owner's door. In working on my own project, which documents aspects of black Los Angeles, through photos and stories, I discovered lots of grave and magnificent facts. What struck me the most was the outrageous pillage of land. If you doubt me, look up Bruce Beach. Better yet, just press rewind on Katrina. I applaud places like Brown University which took the lead and created its own slavery museum displaying artifacts of the school's partnership with bondage. You cannot hide the truth, for it will only break through like a glorious wave. My grandmother was a runaway slave. This singular fact is the most defining aspect of who I am.
As another descendant of slaves, I found Ms. Hartman's work all too realistic. How we long for connection, and can never find it. Who were our ancestors? Where did they come from? Most importantly, how did they live and survive? All we know is that we are here now.