Living Memory

I recently discovered that my family has owned slaves since 1718 (?).

My grandmother gave me a book of photocopies for Christmas in 2005. Inside contained my family history- pages and pages of correspondence, photographs, maps, and wills. It contained much more than I realized, and as I began thoroughly examining it, it became clear to me that my family was very much involved in the colonization of this country. Page after page tells the story of my family, along with other families that kept my family prosperous. Families they owned. From 1718 until 1867 (?), my family owned approximately two thousand people.

I think this is what is missing in blockbuster museums, in our consciousness. What is missing is any conflict and any reason to feel bad about the past and learn from it- the great tragedy of America: move forward and never look back. Vernacular museums exist for the underdogs. They tell the stories of the under-represented and the poor, the suffering and the sweat that went into movements and even just every day life.

It’s time for recognitions. It’s not the rich alone that built the United States. I don’t need to see the beautiful gold-leafed picture frame or the maple banister with painted detail. I want to see the cracks, the uncomfortable language, the bottles decorating the trees, the things caught in the spokes. I want to know about the history of this place the way it really was.