Those of you who have watched Professor Louis Gates on PBS may be familiar with Goree Island. He's the Harvard professor that got arrested on his own porch in Cambridge, Massachusetts for breaking into his own home---culminating in an excruciating reconciliation farce in which he, the President, and the cop had a beer in the Rose Garden. The country danced around the real issue which for me centered around the obvious conclusion that this happened to a black man because he was black. Anyway....
This place was a trading zone. precariously controlled by the Portuguese, then the Dutch, followed by the British, the Dutch again, then French/British/French/British/French until the passing of legal slavery in the mid 19th century. Experts estimate that between 100,000 and 1,000,000 Africans were imprisoned here to be shipped to the Americas between 1450 and 1850. It is a place that has soaked in a narrative of unspeakable tragedy. You can feel it. As we toured the Miason des Esclaves and heard the story, the reactions varied from muted silence to tears. Everyone has their own reaction to this place and the best we can likely do is to allow ourselves to deal with it in our own way. The inhumanity is unbelievable and when considering it was accomplished by those who believe in the grace of a merciful God---it rocks you. The door to the middle passage, where 30% died enroute---to be thrown unceremoniously into the ocean, the survivors enduring hellish conditions, is the symbol of all repressive symbols. I noticed that we all got a little quiet for a good spell.
Then back out on the street to see other sites. You are suddenly and jarringly descended upon by vendors of all kinds. Friendly, pushy, employing a kind of psychological warfare....asking your name, pushing for your promise, cajoling, hounding, begging. There are several fellows with these rattles on cords, singing to a skillful rhythm, combining the wonder of song with the fatiguing wear and tear of negotiation and refusal. It wears you out. I know it is petty and not much on the scale of possible miseries, but.....I am a person who feels compelled to be kind, to respect other humans, to engage, but after a time even I have had my fill. We all buy things...some of the artwork is superb, some of the trinkets gaudy and useless in an aesthetic sense. Lunch is good---chicken or fish--and takes 2+ hours, whereupon we straggle out into the sunshine---more cajoling to buy---and the ferry home. There are literally 100+ elementary school kids on the ferry return and somehow they make us all feel a little better despite the cacophony.
This place was a trading zone. precariously controlled by the Portuguese, then the Dutch, followed by the British, the Dutch again, then French/British/French/British/French until the passing of legal slavery in the mid 19th century. Experts estimate that between 100,000 and 1,000,000 Africans were imprisoned here to be shipped to the Americas between 1450 and 1850. It is a place that has soaked in a narrative of unspeakable tragedy. You can feel it. As we toured the Miason des Esclaves and heard the story, the reactions varied from muted silence to tears. Everyone has their own reaction to this place and the best we can likely do is to allow ourselves to deal with it in our own way. The inhumanity is unbelievable and when considering it was accomplished by those who believe in the grace of a merciful God---it rocks you. The door to the middle passage, where 30% died enroute---to be thrown unceremoniously into the ocean, the survivors enduring hellish conditions, is the symbol of all repressive symbols. I noticed that we all got a little quiet for a good spell.
Then back out on the street to see other sites. You are suddenly and jarringly descended upon by vendors of all kinds. Friendly, pushy, employing a kind of psychological warfare....asking your name, pushing for your promise, cajoling, hounding, begging. There are several fellows with these rattles on cords, singing to a skillful rhythm, combining the wonder of song with the fatiguing wear and tear of negotiation and refusal. It wears you out. I know it is petty and not much on the scale of possible miseries, but.....I am a person who feels compelled to be kind, to respect other humans, to engage, but after a time even I have had my fill. We all buy things...some of the artwork is superb, some of the trinkets gaudy and useless in an aesthetic sense. Lunch is good---chicken or fish--and takes 2+ hours, whereupon we straggle out into the sunshine---more cajoling to buy---and the ferry home. There are literally 100+ elementary school kids on the ferry return and somehow they make us all feel a little better despite the cacophony.
No comments:
Post a Comment