THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1994, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Tuesday, October 11, 1994 TAG: 9410110300
SECTION: LOCAL PAGE: B01 EDITION: FINAL
TYPE: Column
SOURCE: Marc Tibbs
LENGTH: Medium: 78 lines
I hardly knew what to expect Monday at Colonial Williamsburg's re-enactment of a slave auction.
On the drive up, I tried not to think much about it. I've studied slavery in school, read poems about it, seen movies in which it was depicted. I always figured I could be pretty dispassionate about the whole deal.
I hardly blinked when I heard the remarks of two colleagues who had heard where I was headed. One asked whether I was buying or selling. Another was regretful that his wife still had their checkbook.
Humor from two white guys.
Yet, an uneasy feeling churned inside me as I made my way to the steps of Wetherburn's Tavern, where thousands had gathered in anticipation of the auction. Media from as far away as Washington clamored in front of the crowd on Duke of Gloucester Street, pushing and shoving to get their cameras in view.
What a circus, I thought.
Protesters broke out in that dirge of a song ``We Shall Overcome.'' In protest of the protesters, several people screamed catcalls from the audience.
For a minute, the crowd seemed on the verge of anarchy, yelling for the protesters to move on.
``Let the show begin,'' shouted one historically starved spectator. The show? We were about to witness a tumultuous event: the heartless sale of one human being by another. How could these people be taking it so lightly?
Maybe this was becoming more like a slave auction than anyone imagined. I found it all repulsive.
Finally, it started. Tension mounted. Everyone seemed to be holding their breath.
Actors dressed in Colonial garb began bidding on land tracts, and then the slaves that went with them.
Suki, a slave woman, was ``a laundress, very skilled in that trade.'' Opening bid for her was 20 pounds.
Billy, a carpenter, stood proud in his worn leather apron, his tools by his side.
Billy sold for 70 pounds.
And then came Daniel and Lucy. They were two ``house slaves,'' he nattily dressed in the period's finest, and she, weeping and heavy with child. They were each sold to different bidders.
Lucy's tears tore me and the crowd apart. Suddenly, this mob had become a collection of caring, feeling people. Some cried. Some were limp. You didn't need textbooks or movies to understand a mother's sorrow.
Daniel and Lucy's fate was perhaps one of the earliest examples of the breakup of an American family. A fact too often repeated in the 200 years since Colonial times.
When the auction was over, everyone seemed a little less hostile, a little more enlightened. Talking to each other in small circles. Some didn't want to leave.
On the drive home, I couldn't help thinking about my own family, and how we were affected by history. My mother especially.
I've always wondered why sometimes I had to almost force her to say that she loved me. I always knew that she did. She showed me in countless ways.
The more I thought about it, the more I realized that few black women of my mother's generation would talk very much about their emotions. Not my aunts, not my grandmother. Not even my older sisters.
Now, I thought I knew why. Maybe they still felt their ancestors' pain.
For a black woman in slavery, guarding her feelings was the only way of guarding her heart. ILLUSTRATION: Staff photo by MARTIN SMITH-RODDEN
Activists voice concern and anger before the re-enactment of a slave
auction at Colonial Williamsburg on Monday. Some protesters said the
event used historical pain for modern entertainment.
KEYWORDS: COLONIAL WILLIAMSBURG
by CNB