Started digging into this slavery research thing couple weeks back. Couldn’t shake off wanting to understand how it really worked. Not the sugarcoated stuff. Got my hands on actual plantation records first.
Step 1: Hit the county archives down South. Drove myself there, dusty roads and all. The smell? Like old paper soaked in sadness. Pulled out leather-bound ledgers listing “property” – names, ages, prices. Felt like touching ghosts. Every page crumbled a bit in my hands.
The Numbers Game
Sat there scribbling notes like mad. See this? 1860, one page:
- Prime field hand: $1600
- Blacksmith: $1800
- Sickly kid: $50 marked “damaged”
Realized they calculated work output daily. Cotton baskets measured to the ounce. If a person fell short? Whippings logged like inventory adjustments.
Hearing Voices
Numbers felt too cold. Went hunting for slave narratives – those WPA interviews from the 1930s. Found an old woman’s voice crackling on tape:
“Massa say ‘pick 200 pounds or feel the strap.’ Sun ain’t even up yet already crying. Knees bleed from crawling in them rows. Bugs eat you alive.”
Listened till my ears hurt. Stories piled up:
- Babies left crying in dirt fields
- Mothers forced to “breed” like cattle
- Runaways hunted with dogs
Made me stare at the ceiling nights.
The Breaking Point
Everything hit when I found punishment records in Mississippi. Owner bragging about inventing new torture methods:
“Applied salt & turpentine to wounds post-lashing – ensured labor continued.”
That’s when the anger boiled over. Nearly threw my notebook across the room. These were humans listed beside mules and plows. Profit columns written in blood.
Finished research feeling sick. Truth’s ugly as hell but gotta face it. America’s wealth grew on broken backs. Period.
