I am on day #2 of this year’s journey.
Today my plan was to find my way to a burial mound “in the neighborhood” of Monticello, which Thomas Jefferson had excavated about 250 years ago. Let me say now, for the record, that I don’t condone EVER excavating or disturbing burial mounds or cemeteries of any kind. I shouldn’t have to explain why it’s wrong. But many archaeologists and historians somehow think that digging up the graves of people of another race or nationality is okay if it’s for the sake of academia or science. Anyway, Jefferson was a bit more careful than some, I suppose, and as a result of his careful excavation, we have learned two things. 1) There are probably 1000 skeletons beneath that particular mound–adults, children, and babies; and 2) The bones appear to have been interred in such a way that indicated they may have been poured from a basket. There is conjecture that these remains may have been brought to this site from surrounding villages. This seems reasonable as a few other sites in the United States appear to be funerary centers. Moundville, Alabama is one of them.
Apparently this particular mound is no longer in existence. It is assumed it was washed away in a flood. Nevertheless, my plan was to “intuit” my way there based on general descriptions of where he said it was located. (i.e., near the South Fork of Rivanna River, north of Charlottesville.) Eventually I decided that instead of trying to find it on the north side of a relatively large city, I’d just make my way to Monticello, and then look for the river from there. When I was about two miles away from Monticello, I suddenly thought of Sally Hemings. I felt compelled at that point to pull over and do some research. I learned that Sally was very light-skinned, with long straight hair and that she was considered quite good looking. One thing which surprised me was this: Sally’s mother was Betty Hemings and Sally’s father was, reportedly, Jefferson’s father-in-law! Sadly, having sex with those who were enslaved was apparently not uncommon. In fact, as it says in Wikipedia, “Hemings was the third generation of women in her family to be impregnated by a free man during her enslavement and the second to be impregnated by the man she was enslaved to.”
I read that there were rumors for years about the “relationship” between Jefferson and Lemmings. (These rumors were, no doubt, stoked by the fact that her children were even lighter in complexion than she. In fact, some could pass for white, and one later did.) But to call it a “relationship” makes it sound consensual, and most probably that was not the case. Jefferson made public statements about the biological inferiority of Blacks. This belief was not uncommon among slaveholders. And Jefferson had slaves before getting married. After he married a wealthy young widow, his land holdings and the number of slaves he “owned” more than doubled. Together, he and his wife had 600 slaves.
Based on the rampant racism of the time and the prevailing taboo against “miscegenation,” any “relationship” would have had to be very covert. And, of course, an enslaved woman would not have been able to decline her owner’s advances without suffering probable brutal consequences. Considering the inequity in power and status, it was probably more accurately characterized as rape than relationship. I wondered if the same thing was true of Pocahantas. No doubt that “relationship” was overly romanticized as well.
Anyway, after arriving at Monticello and realizing I did not, in any way, want to give money for a whitewashed tour of that place, I continued on, looking for a park or somewhere to offer prayers. I found a small Episcopal Church and on the other side of the street, a small upscale wine and sandwich shop. After running to use the bathroom in the shop, I found myself walking to the backyard of the church, hoping to find a relatively private place where I could inconspicuously pray. There was a very small cemetery there, with some trees and a tiny little mound of dirt under a tree at the lower corner of the cemetery. I sat on that tiny mound and after sitting for a bit, spoke Sally’s name several times. I told her I was sorry this whole thing had happened to her. And I wished her peace.
I sat there for perhaps ten minutes or so, thinking of Sally and all the myriad women used in this way over eons of time in our human history.
I yearn for a time in which women are both cherished and respected. But it takes time to evolve—both as individuals and as a society. Nevertheless, change can happen. Case in point. I remember shamefacedly, an incident from about twenty years ago. A graduate professor and I were conversing about something or other. At one point he shared with me that his father was white. (This professor was a Hawaiian man, with a gentle and beautiful soul.) He said, with some obvious bitterness, that his father had probably raped his mother. And I, with my rose-colored glasses and my unwillingness to see the evils of the world, tried to give him hope by saying, “Maybe he loved her.”
I’m so sorry, Kaleo….. Mea culpa.
Meanwhile, racism is still rampant. Policemen are still shooting unarmed black boys and men. The KKK still exists. Donald Trump is president. But we have made great strides. Now, interracial relationships and marriages are quite common–on the streets of America, on TikTok…. Our schools are filled with interracial children. And Barack Obama was president for two consecutive terms.
We can change.
Meanwhile, blessings to Sally and all other women being used, abused, raped, and trafficked. As I sat beneath the tree, I felt a strong breeze blow across me. I felt like my thoughts were being heard and appreciated.
May there be peace….