While in St. Augustine to offer prayers at the Castillo de San Marcos, where Native leaders and people had been held captive, I also found out about “The Old Slave Market.” It had finally occurred to me that we, as Americans, have two very big sins to atone for. No, four. 1) The genocide of Indigenous people. 2) The kidnapping of Africans from their homeland and their subsequent enslavement. 3) The internment of innocent Japanese Americans, and the atomic bombs dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki. 4) The abduction and imprisonment of thousands of non-criminal Latinos.
It is crystal clear that America has a history of animosity toward those who are not white.
Here in St. Augustine, there is evidence of some whitewashing of history. Looking for “the old slave market,” GPS led me to a quadrangle in the middle of a very popular area of historic St. Augustine. And though I walked all around it, I could find no plaque or recognition of this very sad part of their past. To their credit, there were plaques honoring those who were “foot soldiers” for Civil Rights, and also for Andrew Young, who led a group of nonviolent protesters to the plaza in 1964. The resisters all knew they would likely be met by violent white supremacists and were prepared for it. Young went twice to try to speak to the men in order to diffuse the situation. For his trouble, he was violently beaten both times. Many believe that this incident helped to finally get the Civil Rights Act passed.
That said, perhaps it’s a bit cowardly for the town to not mention the fact that blacks were once bought and sold on this land. But apparently many residents were quite resistant, not wanting to tarnish the name of the town, I guess. One person reportedly said that the building had only been used for “public slave whippings, not for public slave sales.”
I had to intuit where the correct spot was. It was a rectangular pavilion with old limestone supports. (Later I did more research and discovered that I’d intuited correctly.) I didn’t want to “only be a tourist.” I wanted to offer prayers. It was early, so there weren’t too many people out, but there were some. I had to screw up the courage to do it anyway. I leaned against one of those supports, closed my eyes, and quietly offered prayers.
It’s not a lot. But I didn’t want to be another person who pretended it never happened.
Banner image: In St. Augustine, Florida, in the center plaza of the historic district, this is one view of the pavilion where Africans were bought and sold as slaves. At one time it was known as “the Old Slave Market.” Now there are no signs to that effect whatsoever.
