Author Caryl Phillips calls Charleston “a city with a defective sense of its own history,” a city that hides a prominent role in the slave trade behind Civil War memorials and quaint carriage tours. “In racial terms, Charleston is still in a state of denial about the true facts of her history,” he says. But “this is hardly unique.” In his book The Atlantic Sound, Phillips explores and exposes Charleston along with her sister cities in the slave trade — Liverpool, England and Accra, Ghana.
Phillips uses historical perspectives and personal experiences to exhume each city’s buried past. In Charleston, he finds “it shocking that so much of [its] true, complex, hybrid history is hidden behind a slick, neatly-presented facade.”
"[Charleston has] a history of loss and defeat, yet it is presented as though to admit such a thing would result in the pillars of the city tumbling to the ground. There is no real attempt on the part of the city to acknowledge, commemorate, and pay due respects to the African labor and intelligence, which contributed to the founding of this most beautiful of cities."
Phillips, recipient of the Martin Luther King Prize and author of multiple novels, has written a book that remembers the past and critiques the present. “Caribbean by birth, British by citizenship, and American by residency,” Phillips owns a unique authorial perspective. In The Atlantic Sound he illustrates how the past is selectively forgotten by people who “view history through the narrow prism of their own pigmentation.”
The Journey Begins
"The ship sails at night, sneaking away from Guadalupe like a thief into the darkness ... above my head the funnel spews black smoke in the direction of the stars, and in the distance the brooding hills keep their secrets."
Thus begins the banana boat voyage Phillips undertakes in a ship “designed to carry cargo, not human beings” — an uncomfortable transatlantic trip that pales in comparison to voyages of the past, when humans were cargo and commodity.
"If the Atlantic Ocean was to dry up there would be a double highway from the Cape to Jamaica paved with African bones."
“In the year 1771 alone,” ships from Liverpool “delivered 28,200 slaves to the far side of the Atlantic.” Men from Liverpool traveled to Ghana, traded trinkets for slaves, and then sailed to Charleston. Once in town, the traders swapped human ‘goods’ for American products, and then, with their business finished, they sailed back to Liverpool — Phillips’ first destination.
Through the eyes of John Ocansey, an African traveler, Phillips examines Liverpool in 1881, and surprisingly, Ocansey had a better opinion of the city than Phillips does today. Phillips is disappointed by the city’s failure to recognize its past. “It is disquieting to be in a place where history is so physically present, yet so glaringly absent from the people’s consciousness.” These words echo in the streets of Charleston.
Leaving Liverpool, Phillips travels to Accra, Ghana, where he examines the African diaspora and the idea of Pan-Africanism, “a simple concept which involves the solidarity and cohesion of all Africans and people of African descent.” An optimistic thought, spoken by Dr. Ben Abdallah, but an idea far from being realized; Abdallah himself calls African-Americans “you people,” harming the simple cohesiveness he wishes to create.
Phillips “empathizes with the impulse behind” Pan-Africanism, but he thinks “between [its] theory and practice much is lost. Idle romanticism helps nobody.” Africa is coming to terms with its history by attempting to unite Africans and African-Americans, but the process is difficult — Africa is a nation of extreme ethnic complexity.
"There are many, many different Africas. Some Africans feel a more intense relationship with African-Americans than others. This is particularly the case in West Africa because of the slave trade."
When asked if it is possible for Africans and African-Americans to understand each other’s perspectives, Phillips responds, “Yes, it is. But it requires effort and overcoming the notion that because of a shared history and the same color skin, that everything is ‘cool’.”
Charleston’s Forgotten Family
In The Atlantic Sound, Caryl Phillips’s first thoughts in downtown Charleston are not encouraging:
"Perhaps it is just a nervous habit, but in the south I am always careful to obey the rules. Not to jaywalk, not to double-park, not to ‘forget’ to put money into the parking meter."
These are not thoughts of acceptance or welcome. They are a reminder of the history that Phillips came to research — the history of Judge J. Waties Waring, a man once considered a Lowcountry traitor. Judge Waring was ostracized in Charleston because he divorced a Southern belle, married a ‘Yankee’ divorcee, and helped end legalized racism in South Carolina. A man who should have been praised was, instead, ridiculed and forgotten. By telling Waring’s story, Phillips reminds us of Charleston’s recent but buried past.
Judge Waring used his bench to end racist courtroom procedures, and he used his courtroom to fight racism in the Charleston community. In 1947, Judge Waring made a decision confirming “that it was discriminatory to exclude blacks from the Democratic state primary.” White South Carolina Democrats fought back, saying their party was a private club. In response, “Judge Waring reminded them that private clubs do not elect the President of the United States.”
In a precursor to Brown vs. Board of Education, Judge Waring fought the practice of “separate but equal,” but the two other judges trying Briggs vs. Elliot did not share Waring’s noble intentions; they outvoted Waring, temporarily upholding the law of segregation.
Judge Waring’s wife Elizabeth shared her husband’s civic concern and was an outspoken advocate of desegregation. She “scandalized Charleston society by inviting” black friends to tea — “the first time that black people had ever been entertained South of Broad.”
She “praised black people as having spiritually ... long surpassed whites,” and, after receiving verbal abuse from her neighbors, she described Southern whites as “a sick, confused, and decadent people ... so self-centered that they have not considered themselves as a part of the country since the Civil War” — strong words that hit a nerve, uncovering ugly truths.
At a time when the Warings should have been praised, they were outcast by South of Broad elite who deemed their actions inappropriate. “Judge Waring was known as ‘the traitor who let the niggers vote’ [and] his wife was ‘the woman who let the niggers into her house.’”
At their 61 Meeting Street home, crosses were burned and windows were shattered, forcing the Warings to move to New York.
The Warings are now buried in Magnolia Cemetery, a permanent reminder of their courageous actions and an obscure monument to our unfortunate past. A Charleston family worthy of high praise, remembered with a faint whisper.
After completing his research of Judge Waring, Caryl Phillips visits Sullivan’s Island, “the black Ellis Island.” On this small strip of land, approximately 100,000 slaves entered the United States. They were processed, placed in pestilence houses, and then transferred to Charleston for sale. Phillips asked locals where the “pest houses” once stood, but no one knew — a historic memory selectively forgotten.
Caryl Phillips concludes his look at Charleston on a haunted note. With people celebrating in the streets, on “a night as warm and damp as an indoor swimming pool,” five black women dance the Shango.
"Here, in this city which ‘processed’ nearly one-third of the African population ... a population who were encouraged to forget Africa, to forget their language, to forget their families, to forget their culture, to forget their dances, five young black women try to remember ... White men and women dancing to the rhythms of Africa in the street behind the United States Custom House. ... The police looking on, guns on their hips. Everybody having a good time. Ghosts walking in the streets of Charleston. Ghosts dancing in the streets of Charleston."
Where Do We Go From Here?
In Charleston, Ghana, and Liverpool, the slave trade thrived, causing countless deaths and immeasurable suffering. In Charleston, this history is hidden behind the Civil War — a more marketable past. A war that ended 140 years ago is continuously reenacted, but slavery and segregation are forgotten. Charleston still holds an antique grudge against "Northern aggression," but when the word slavery is mentioned, a double standard arises. The mantra of “I never owned a slave” is used for protection — a city’s feeble attempt to avoid accountability.
Charleston is in a state of denial, but acceptance may be on the horizon. As Phillips says, “Many people, black and white, appear to be attempting to rectify this [problem] but there is much work to be done.” To help speed this process, Phillips suggests “dialogue, followed by action. Begin in the school system. Look at how history and literature are taught. I have faith in young people, but they need to be guided and exposed to ideas, books, and people that will challenge the status quo.”
When asked what one idea he would like The Atlantic Sound to convey, Phillips answers, "The idea that history is not as simple or simplistic as the manner in which it is presented. We are encouraged to view history as an extended interview with the ‘winners’. Well, some of the so-called ‘losers’ have an equally valid, and important, point of view as well" - a point of view that Charleston needs to recognize and accept as its own.
*Originally published in The Charleston City Paper
Phillips uses historical perspectives and personal experiences to exhume each city’s buried past. In Charleston, he finds “it shocking that so much of [its] true, complex, hybrid history is hidden behind a slick, neatly-presented facade.”
"[Charleston has] a history of loss and defeat, yet it is presented as though to admit such a thing would result in the pillars of the city tumbling to the ground. There is no real attempt on the part of the city to acknowledge, commemorate, and pay due respects to the African labor and intelligence, which contributed to the founding of this most beautiful of cities."
Phillips, recipient of the Martin Luther King Prize and author of multiple novels, has written a book that remembers the past and critiques the present. “Caribbean by birth, British by citizenship, and American by residency,” Phillips owns a unique authorial perspective. In The Atlantic Sound he illustrates how the past is selectively forgotten by people who “view history through the narrow prism of their own pigmentation.”
The Journey Begins
"The ship sails at night, sneaking away from Guadalupe like a thief into the darkness ... above my head the funnel spews black smoke in the direction of the stars, and in the distance the brooding hills keep their secrets."
Thus begins the banana boat voyage Phillips undertakes in a ship “designed to carry cargo, not human beings” — an uncomfortable transatlantic trip that pales in comparison to voyages of the past, when humans were cargo and commodity.
"If the Atlantic Ocean was to dry up there would be a double highway from the Cape to Jamaica paved with African bones."
“In the year 1771 alone,” ships from Liverpool “delivered 28,200 slaves to the far side of the Atlantic.” Men from Liverpool traveled to Ghana, traded trinkets for slaves, and then sailed to Charleston. Once in town, the traders swapped human ‘goods’ for American products, and then, with their business finished, they sailed back to Liverpool — Phillips’ first destination.
Through the eyes of John Ocansey, an African traveler, Phillips examines Liverpool in 1881, and surprisingly, Ocansey had a better opinion of the city than Phillips does today. Phillips is disappointed by the city’s failure to recognize its past. “It is disquieting to be in a place where history is so physically present, yet so glaringly absent from the people’s consciousness.” These words echo in the streets of Charleston.
Leaving Liverpool, Phillips travels to Accra, Ghana, where he examines the African diaspora and the idea of Pan-Africanism, “a simple concept which involves the solidarity and cohesion of all Africans and people of African descent.” An optimistic thought, spoken by Dr. Ben Abdallah, but an idea far from being realized; Abdallah himself calls African-Americans “you people,” harming the simple cohesiveness he wishes to create.
Phillips “empathizes with the impulse behind” Pan-Africanism, but he thinks “between [its] theory and practice much is lost. Idle romanticism helps nobody.” Africa is coming to terms with its history by attempting to unite Africans and African-Americans, but the process is difficult — Africa is a nation of extreme ethnic complexity.
"There are many, many different Africas. Some Africans feel a more intense relationship with African-Americans than others. This is particularly the case in West Africa because of the slave trade."
When asked if it is possible for Africans and African-Americans to understand each other’s perspectives, Phillips responds, “Yes, it is. But it requires effort and overcoming the notion that because of a shared history and the same color skin, that everything is ‘cool’.”
Charleston’s Forgotten Family
In The Atlantic Sound, Caryl Phillips’s first thoughts in downtown Charleston are not encouraging:
"Perhaps it is just a nervous habit, but in the south I am always careful to obey the rules. Not to jaywalk, not to double-park, not to ‘forget’ to put money into the parking meter."
These are not thoughts of acceptance or welcome. They are a reminder of the history that Phillips came to research — the history of Judge J. Waties Waring, a man once considered a Lowcountry traitor. Judge Waring was ostracized in Charleston because he divorced a Southern belle, married a ‘Yankee’ divorcee, and helped end legalized racism in South Carolina. A man who should have been praised was, instead, ridiculed and forgotten. By telling Waring’s story, Phillips reminds us of Charleston’s recent but buried past.
Judge Waring used his bench to end racist courtroom procedures, and he used his courtroom to fight racism in the Charleston community. In 1947, Judge Waring made a decision confirming “that it was discriminatory to exclude blacks from the Democratic state primary.” White South Carolina Democrats fought back, saying their party was a private club. In response, “Judge Waring reminded them that private clubs do not elect the President of the United States.”
In a precursor to Brown vs. Board of Education, Judge Waring fought the practice of “separate but equal,” but the two other judges trying Briggs vs. Elliot did not share Waring’s noble intentions; they outvoted Waring, temporarily upholding the law of segregation.
Judge Waring’s wife Elizabeth shared her husband’s civic concern and was an outspoken advocate of desegregation. She “scandalized Charleston society by inviting” black friends to tea — “the first time that black people had ever been entertained South of Broad.”
She “praised black people as having spiritually ... long surpassed whites,” and, after receiving verbal abuse from her neighbors, she described Southern whites as “a sick, confused, and decadent people ... so self-centered that they have not considered themselves as a part of the country since the Civil War” — strong words that hit a nerve, uncovering ugly truths.
At a time when the Warings should have been praised, they were outcast by South of Broad elite who deemed their actions inappropriate. “Judge Waring was known as ‘the traitor who let the niggers vote’ [and] his wife was ‘the woman who let the niggers into her house.’”
At their 61 Meeting Street home, crosses were burned and windows were shattered, forcing the Warings to move to New York.
The Warings are now buried in Magnolia Cemetery, a permanent reminder of their courageous actions and an obscure monument to our unfortunate past. A Charleston family worthy of high praise, remembered with a faint whisper.
After completing his research of Judge Waring, Caryl Phillips visits Sullivan’s Island, “the black Ellis Island.” On this small strip of land, approximately 100,000 slaves entered the United States. They were processed, placed in pestilence houses, and then transferred to Charleston for sale. Phillips asked locals where the “pest houses” once stood, but no one knew — a historic memory selectively forgotten.
Caryl Phillips concludes his look at Charleston on a haunted note. With people celebrating in the streets, on “a night as warm and damp as an indoor swimming pool,” five black women dance the Shango.
"Here, in this city which ‘processed’ nearly one-third of the African population ... a population who were encouraged to forget Africa, to forget their language, to forget their families, to forget their culture, to forget their dances, five young black women try to remember ... White men and women dancing to the rhythms of Africa in the street behind the United States Custom House. ... The police looking on, guns on their hips. Everybody having a good time. Ghosts walking in the streets of Charleston. Ghosts dancing in the streets of Charleston."
Where Do We Go From Here?
In Charleston, Ghana, and Liverpool, the slave trade thrived, causing countless deaths and immeasurable suffering. In Charleston, this history is hidden behind the Civil War — a more marketable past. A war that ended 140 years ago is continuously reenacted, but slavery and segregation are forgotten. Charleston still holds an antique grudge against "Northern aggression," but when the word slavery is mentioned, a double standard arises. The mantra of “I never owned a slave” is used for protection — a city’s feeble attempt to avoid accountability.
Charleston is in a state of denial, but acceptance may be on the horizon. As Phillips says, “Many people, black and white, appear to be attempting to rectify this [problem] but there is much work to be done.” To help speed this process, Phillips suggests “dialogue, followed by action. Begin in the school system. Look at how history and literature are taught. I have faith in young people, but they need to be guided and exposed to ideas, books, and people that will challenge the status quo.”
When asked what one idea he would like The Atlantic Sound to convey, Phillips answers, "The idea that history is not as simple or simplistic as the manner in which it is presented. We are encouraged to view history as an extended interview with the ‘winners’. Well, some of the so-called ‘losers’ have an equally valid, and important, point of view as well" - a point of view that Charleston needs to recognize and accept as its own.
*Originally published in The Charleston City Paper
