The Development of Maroonage in The South: The Ruling Class/Colonialist feared that importing to many Enslaved Afrikans to Virginia Would Create a New Nation Named New Guinea & William Byrd Warned of Maroon Settlements in Blue Ridge Mountains

The Development of Maroonage in The South: The Ruling Class/Colonialist feared that importing to many Enslaved Afrikans to Virginia Would Create a New Nation Named New Guinea Named After the West Afrikan Country Guinea 🇬🇳 They feared that Virginia had Mountains and those Mountains would be the spring for that nation by Maroons & that they would mirror the Maroons of #Jamaica !!! British Colonialist & Founder of Richmond Virginia William Byrd II was the Pro opponent against letting Afrikans take refuge in the Blue Ridge Mountains he advocated exploration of the mountains for minerals & to set up Fortifications to prevent maroons settlements to rise as they did in the mountains of Jamaica!

William Byrd II Also Didn’t want the Blue Ridge Mountains to Become another Great Dismal Swamp – William Byrd II discovered when he surveyed the Virginia/Carolina boundary in 1728 that the lands along the unclear border had evolved into places that harbored runaway indentured servants and escaped slaves. Unless the officials in Williamsburg found settlers to occupy the Shenandoah Valley, the territory west of the Blue Ridge could become another “no man’s land.

Haki Kweli Shakur 6-26-52 ADM ATC – NAPLA NAIM MOI

 

 

 

#blueridgemountains #blueridgemountain #blueridgemountainsva #Virginia #Maroon #Maroons #greatdismalswamp #DismalSwampMaroons #dismalswamp #suffolkva #norfolkva #northcarolina #williambyrd #stiffresistanceendedslavery #wefaughtback #guinea #westafricanancestry #newafrikan77wordpress #VA #nationbuilding #hakikwelishakur #Historian

June 25-26 1863 The Richmond Sentinel In Lynchburg Virginia Five Enslaved Afrikans Were Hanged For Murdering Their Master General Dillard ( Black Women Inflict Fatal Blows )

June 25-26 1863 The Richmond Sentinel In Lynchburg Virginia Five Enslaved Afrikans Were Hanged For Murdering Their Master General Dillard ( Black Women Inflict Fatal Blows )

“Brutal Murder – Gen. Terisha W. Dillard, of Amherst Co., was brutally murdered by some of his servants, on Saturday last. We learn that he was superintending some work he was having done on an Island in the James river, near his residence, in which six hands were employed – four women and two men – when the fiendish purpose of his murder was executed. He was caught and held by the men, and the women inflicted the fatal blows. – His body, we are informed, was horribly cut and managled, presenting a shocking spectacle of mutilation. After the diabolic deed had been performed, the remains were covered up in the sand – but soon two of the women made confession of the crime, and with the two men, were arrested. – The others are yet at large. Gen. Dillard was a gentleman of high standing, and much esteemed. At one time he was a director of one of the banks of this city.” May 13th 1863 The Virginian Newspaper

 

June 26 1959 Prince Edward County Virginia Public Schools Closed its Doors to Black Students, Brown vs Board Case , Virginia’s Historic Racist Education Systems!

In the wake of the Supreme Court’s unanimous Brown v. Board of Education decision, Virginia’s Prince Edward County refused to obey the law. Rather than desegregate, the county closed its public schools, locking and chaining the doors. The community’s white leaders quickly established a private academy, commandeering supplies from the shuttered public schools to use in their all-white classrooms. Meanwhile, black parents had few options: keep their kids at home, move across county lines, or send them to live with relatives in other states. For five years, the schools remained closed.

Kristen Green, a longtime newspaper reporter, grew up in Farmville and attended Prince Edward Academy, which didn’t admit black students until 1986. In her journey to uncover what happened in her hometown before she was born, Green tells the stories of families divided by the school closures and the 1,700 black children denied an education. As she peels back the layers of this haunting period in our nation’s past, her own familys role no less complex and painful comes to light.

At the center of Virginia is the tiny town of Farmville in Prince Edward County. During the civil rights movement, there were no snarling dogs here, no fire hoses or billy clubs, no lunch counters that made the front page. Driving through the town today, it’s hard to imagine it as a stage for conflict.

Surrounded by hilly farmland, Farmville is the county seat and, at around 8,500 people, the largest town in a fifty-mile radius. Old brick warehouses that once housed tobacco and a shoe factory lie at one end of Main Street on the Appomattox River. Near the center of town stands a bronze Confederate soldier, a monument to Civil War veterans. Up the hill on the edge of town, past historic storefronts and churches, past Longwood College, sits the Robert Russa Moton Museum, Virginia’s only National Historic Landmark of the civil rights movement.

For some Farmville residents, the building, constructed in 1939 to house an all-black high school, reminds them of an era they’d rather forget. For others, it commemorates a thirteen-year legal struggle that should not be forgotten. For many, it has become a place to begin talking about what happened in Prince Edward County in the 1950s and ’60s.

In 1951, long before well-known actions such as the Montgomery bus boycott, students at Moton High School went on strike to protest inadequate facilities. Eventually, these students became plaintiffs in one of the five cases that were part of Brown v. Board of Education.

After the 1954 Brown ruling, there were efforts across the South to block integration. In Virginia, the governor closed public schools in several cities to prevent them from integrating. In 1959, the courts ruled that the closings were unconstitutional, and those schools reopened—at the same time, Prince Edward County refused to integrate and locked its doors.

For five years, Prince Edward schools remained closed while legal challenges bounced between courts. During that time, most white children attended the new private school created by segregationist leaders and funded by state tuition grants and private donations. About 1,700 black and lower-income white students tried to find schooling elsewhere or stayed home, waiting.

The Prince Edward story is not so well known because it doesn’t have “the essential ingredients of a standard civil rights story,” writes Christopher Bonastia in Southern Stalemate: Five Years without Public Education in Prince Edward County, Virginia. “Face-to-face confrontations in the streets, sometimes spiked with gruesome violence, lured pens and cameras to the Deep South. Rhetorical clashes in courtrooms, and the quiet suffering of locked-out children in the Upper South, provided little competition.”

 

The Moton Museum is a national museum, but it is also a museum for Prince Edwardians. Since it opened in 2001, it has hosted events and discussions about the civil rights era. More people are talking about that time as individuals instead of talking about the white group experience and the black group experience, says Lacy Ward Jr., director of the museum, who has family roots in Prince Edward.

Ward has tried hard to challenge the idea that a civil rights museum is inevitably a black history museum. “A civil rights museum is a public policy museum,” he says, and the new permanent exhibit tells the public policy story of Prince Edward’s transition from segregation to integration. It also aims to tell the story of what happened to all the children when the schools closed. To do this, the exhibit—which winds through the school’s old classrooms—relies heavily on first-person accounts. Prince Edwardians will see people they know on the walls, Ward says.

Separate but unequal

In 1951, Farmville had a white high school and a black high school. Farmville High School, the white school, had plenty of classrooms and a gymnasium, cafeteria, infirmary, and other resources. Robert Russa Moton High School, named for the Prince Edward native who succeeded Booker T. Washington as president of the Tuskegee Institute, had none of these. School supplies were secondhand and spread thin, and more than 450 students were packed into a facility originally built for 180.

“We held two or three classes in the auditorium most of the time, one on the stage and two in the back,” former Moton principal M. Boyd Jones told journalist Bob Smith in 1961. “We even held some classes in a bus.” Classes also met in several tar-paper shacks, which county officials had constructed instead of a new school. The shacks leaked, and the potbelly stoves that were supposed to keep children warm did not provide adequate heat.

Despite all this, it was a tight-knit school community, and the teachers had high expectations for their students and their futures. Moton parents, including community leader and local NAACP chapter president Reverend L. Francis Griffin, tried to get a new school built, but the board of supervisors stalled, refusing to appropriate funds or finalize a plot of land on which to build.

This frustrated Barbara Johns, a sixteen-year-old junior at Moton. She came from a family of intellectuals and independent thinkers. Her uncle, Vernon Johns, who was pastor at Montgomery’s Dexter Avenue Baptist Church at the time, was an outspoken civil rights advocate. Barbara’s mother said in 1961, “Anything she believed in she was determined to continue to believe in, and if you wanted to change her mind you had to give a lot of reasons.”

Johns talked to her teacher, Miss Inez Davenport, about her frustrations. “I told her how sick and tired I was of the inadequate building and facilities and how I wished to hell (I know I wasn’t this profane in speaking to her but that’s how I felt) something could be done about it,” Barbara later wrote. “After hearing me out she asked simply, ‘Why don’t you do something about it?’ I recall smiling at her, dropping the subject, and going about my other activities. But I didn’t forget that statement, for it stuck with me for several days and out of it was conceived the idea of the strike.”

On the morning of April 23, 1951, Jones got an anonymous call that two Moton students were hanging around downtown. He got in his car and drove to find them. The call had been a ruse to get him out of the building. Meanwhile, teachers received notes to each classroom that called everyone to an emergency assembly in the auditorium.

Student leader John Stokes, in his 2008 memoir, Students on Strike, writes, “By the time all the students arrived in the auditorium, the members of the strike committee were sitting on the stage behind a drawn curtain. When the curtain opened, I stood up and got the students to quiet down. We opened the assembly with the Pledge of Allegiance. Then we said the Lord’s Prayer and sang a song.” The strike committee asked all teachers to leave and Johns rallied the student body, imploring them not to accept the conditions of the school. The plan? To strike until they got what they wanted. Most students were on board immediately. That afternoon they stayed on the school grounds, carrying placards with demands such as “We are tired of tar paper shacks—we want a new school.”

The next day, the student committee met with Superintendent Thomas McIlwaine at the courthouse to present their demands. McIlwaine, who believed the students had been “set up” by adults, threatened them with expulsion and told them their teachers would be fired if they didn’t go back to school. He also promised them a new Moton High School.

That was all the strikers wanted, at first. “It never entered my mind at that time that this would turn out to be a school desegregation suit,” Johns said in a 1959 interview. “We didn’t know of such things. We were thinking that the school would be improved, or at best, that we would get a new school.”

The students decided to contact the NAACP in Richmond for help. Attorneys Oliver Hill and Spottswood Robinson were reluctant to visit Farmville. How serious were these Moton students? What kind of community support did they have? The strike occurred just as the NAACP legal strategy was changing. Lawyers had been filing cases that took on unequal facilities for black students. But convinced that separate would never be equal, the organization began attacking the legality of segregation itself. Prince Edward was to become part of this new fight.

When Hill and Robinson met with the strike committee at Griffin’s church, they realized how determined the students were. Hill recalled in 1957, “They handled themselves so well and their morale was so high that we didn’t have the heart to say no. We said if their parents would support them we would back them up.” However, the students would have to change their demands. If the NAACP was to take their case, the lawyers said, the goal would have to be desegregation.

About one thousand parents and students packed the Moton auditorium to discuss the possible lawsuit. At least one parent spoke out against the students’ actions, but in the end they agreed to approve whatever action the NAACP thought was necessary.

On May 3, the NAACP attorneys filed a petition with the Prince Edward County School Board to desegregate the schools. That night, at a rally to solidify support at Griffin’s First Baptist, the students told the crowd they would return to school. Stokes remembers there were police checkpoints encircling the town, and state troopers were directing traffic. “I was a little surprised because we had not publicized the meeting,” he writes. “But I should have realized the white authorities would know about it.”

Indeed, Farmville’s leaders were starting to take the situation seriously. Initially, Farmville Herald publisher and town council member J. Barrye Wall casually dismissed the “student-inspired mass hookie.” By the time the petition was filed, Wall was accusing outside agitators of initiating the strike.

Robinson, Johns, and Griffin spoke to the crowd at First Baptist, urging them to stay committed to the fight ahead. When former Moton principal J. B. Pervall, who was opposed to the strike, questioned the new desegregation strategy, Johns got up to speak again. “Don’t let Mr. Charlie, Mr. Tommy, or Mr. Pervall stop you from backing us,” she said. Griffin added, “Anybody who won’t fight against racial prejudice is not a man.”

Civilized intimidation

White residents’ reactions were mixed. Strike committee member John Watson learned later that some supported the strike. “Several of them told me that,” he says. But they feared retaliation by segregationist leaders and threats to their jobs and businesses. When it became clear that the black community planned to sustain a serious civil rights campaign, white leaders began a campaign of economic and social intimidation. But the absence of outright violence in Prince Edward from the time of the strike through the sixties is something white and black residents are proud of to this day.

Community leaders saw themselves as more civilized and progressive than residents of the Deep South. As Jill Titus writes in Brown’s Battleground: Students, Segregationists, and the Struggle for Justice in Prince Edward County, Virginia, “Virginia’s interpretation of Jim Crow was stifling to black aspirations but nonetheless distinct from the racial code that governed life in the Deep South. The Old Dominion, after all, had been the aristocratic capital of the Old South. White elites wholeheartedly supported segregation and disfranchisement but shunned vigilante violence as a threat to social stability.”

So white leaders asserted their power through “official” channels. The school board fired Moton’s principal and a teacher who was aunt to a student and whose husband was an NAACP member. They also fired Moton teacher Vera Allen, whose daughter Edwilda was involved in the strike. Eventually, the county abolished John Lancaster’s job as Negro county farm agent, ostensibly because of his support of the strike and his efforts as the Moton PTA president to build a new school.

Farmville business owners also began to retaliate against Griffin. His credit was cut off at department and grocery stores, and his debts suddenly were due immediately. Other black families began to have problems with their credit too. The town was tense. “We had a feeling that things were different,” says Joan Johns Cobb, Barbara’s younger sister.

A few acts of intimidation went beyond the “civilized” code. On Sunday, May 6, someone burned a cross in the Moton schoolyard. The Ku Klux Klan was not active in the area, however, and most people—black and white—agreed it was the action of a few. Griffin received death threats, and a crude homemade bomb fizzled on the steps of his house. The Johns family began to fear for Barbara’s safety after receiving several threats against her. They sent her to live with her uncle Vernon in Montgomery, Alabama, and finish high school there.

Meanwhile, the school board denied the NAACP petition to desegregate schools and suddenly found the money to build a new Moton High School.

On May 23, 1951, the NAACP attorneys filed Dorothy E. Davis v. County School Board of Prince Edward County in federal district court. A three-judge panel heard the case in February 1952 and ruled in favor of the county, writing, “Separation of white and colored ‘children’ in the public schools of Virginia has for generations been a part of the mores of her people.” The NAACP expected this ruling and continued preparation for an appeal to the Supreme Court.

The organization was litigating similar cases in South Carolina, Kansas, Delaware, and Washington, D.C., and, in 1952, the Supreme Court agreed to hear the five school desegregation cases rolled into one: Brown et al. v. The Board of Education of Topeka et al. Of the 167 student plaintiffs named in Brown, 117 were Prince Edward students.

Prince Edward leaders, meanwhile, were working to show how effective the separate-but-equal system was. In 1953, the new, modern Moton High School opened with an auditorium, gymnasium, and cafeteria. However, supplies such as books and science equipment were still scarce.

Some white residents believed the new school proved their good intentions to take care of and educate Prince Edward’s black residents. Didn’t it solve the problem? “Given what they believed to be a show of largesse on their part, many were genuinely puzzled when blacks refused to demonstrate proper gratitude by dropping the lawsuit,” Titus writes. Even today, Ward says he hears people in Farmville say, “They gave them what they wanted, so why didn’t the [court] case go away?”

On May 17, 1954, the Supreme Court ruled on Brown and overturned its 1896 Plessy v. Ferguson decision that mandated “separate but equal” facilities. Attorneys for Virginia asked for a delay of implementation, citing, among other reasons, that black standards of health and morality were lower than that of whites. More than a year later, in a decision known as Brown II, the court instructed federal district courts act “with all deliberate speed” to order school integration in places specific to the suits, but it gave no deadlines.

Brown backlash

Virginia’s leaders initially accepted the court’s decision, albeit grudgingly. Governor Thomas Stanley called for calmness as the state figured out how to implement the new law. But U.S. Senator Harry F. Byrd warned that the court decision “is the most serious blow that has yet been struck against the rights of the states in a matter vitally affecting their authority and welfare. . . . In Virginia now we are facing a crisis of the first magnitude.”

In Prince Edward, white leaders bristled at the idea of the federal government telling them how to run their public schools. Wall wrote in a Herald editorial, “We therefore conclude that public education as it is presently constituted has been undermined and toppled to fragments by the general decision of the Supreme Court. We submit that Virginia has not abandoned public education; the Supreme Court has abolished it.”

While segregationist groups such as the White Citizens Councils emphasized racial differences, Virginia’s leaders decided to focus on the legal argument—states’ rights, which they framed as a national conservative issue. The Richmond News Leader’s James Kilpatrick trumpeted the concept of “interposition,” in which the state shields residents from federal mandates, or “interposes” itself. This became the language of Virginia’s resistance.

Prince Edward leaders, including the Farmville mayor, a County Board of Supervisors member, and Wall, organized a group called the Defenders of State Sovereignty and Individual Liberty. The Defenders believed violence would only hurt their cause. Their leader, Robert Crawford, quoted in the New Republic, said, “If this community should suffer just one incident of Klanism, our white case is lost. No matter who starts it, the whites will be blamed. We must not have it.”

After Brown II was handed down, the Defenders organized a meeting at Longwood College that drew more than 1,300 people. At the meeting, the Defenders presented their plan to close the public schools should they be ordered to desegregate. Those who questioned the plan were accused of being against the community. Through a conspicuous stand-up vote, the Defenders won approval to create what would become the private Prince Edward School Foundation.

Byrd called for “Massive Resistance” to the desegregation law and banded together with other southern congressmen in Washington to sign the “Southern Manifesto,” which stated: “This unwarranted exercise of power by the Court, contrary to the Constitution, is creating chaos and confusion in the States principally affected. It is destroying the amicable relations between the white and Negro races that have been created through ninety years of patient effort by the good people of both races. It has planted hatred and suspicion where there has been heretofore friendship and understanding.” It continued, “We commend the motives of those States which have declared the intention to resist forced integration by any lawful means.”

Back in Virginia, the General Assembly passed a new set of laws in 1956 known as the Stanley Plan, which gave the governor the power to close any school that integrated and stipulated that school districts that integrated would lose state funding. In September 1958, when the Virginia Supreme Court ruled that schools in Charlottesville, Norfolk, and Warren County had to desegregate immediately, the governor closed those schools.

Prince Edward was also under court order to integrate, but the school board won a stay and appealed to the Supreme Court. The court turned down the appeal and returned the case to District Court Judge Sterling Hutcheson, who ruled in August of 1958 that Prince Edward had until 1965 to integrate.

However, in January 1959, the Virginia Supreme Court of Appeals and the U.S. District Court struck down the school closing provision of Virginia’s massive resistance legislation. The schools that had closed started integrating. And, in May, the Fourth Circuit overturned the district judge’s ruling and ordered Prince Edward to integrate its schools by that fall.

It appeared that massive resistance was reaching its end, but in Prince Edward it was just beginning.

Five years without public school

In June 1959, the Prince Edward County Board of Supervisors voted not to fund the public schools, and the Prince Edward School Foundation leaders launched a statewide fund-raising campaign. As schools began integrating in other counties, segregationists in Prince Edward saw themselves as Davids to the Goliath NAACP and the federal government. “In many ways, Prince Edward County was the last stand of Massive Resistance in the state of Virginia,” says Larissa Smith Fergeson, associate professor of history at Longwood University and historian for the museum’s new permanent exhibit.

Still, many county residents didn’t think the schools would actually close. “The truth was that the Negroes by and large could not bring themselves to believe that the whites would go this far or that the courts would permit them to go this far,” Bob Smith wrote in 1965. “The Negro plaintiffs had, after all, won the case.”

But September came and went, and the public schools never opened. Some 1,700 students were shut out. Meanwhile, the private Prince Edward Academy opened with nearly 1,450 students from kindergarten to high school.

The school closings didn’t just affect children’s education—they changed families. Parents had to decide whether to send their children away so they could continue school. The black community’s Prince Edward County Christian Association helped more than fifty students attend Kittrell College, an African Methodist Episcopal junior college in North Carolina that offered space in its high school department. The Virginia Teachers Association placed Prince Edward students in other Virginia schools, and hundreds of children left the county to live with relatives elsewhere.

Nearly seventy black children left home as part of the Quaker American Friends Service Committee’s placement program. The AFSC placed students with white and black foster families in other parts of the country. Depending on state laws, Fergeson says, parents often had to sign their children over to the social welfare system.

Several Prince Edward black women, including former public school teachers, began grassroots schools in their homes and churches in the fall of 1959. Building on that effort, PECCA, with help from the AFSC, created “training centers” for students that focused on study but also citizenship, black history, arts, current events, and recreation. They were not full-fledged schools, because the black community did not want to get into the private school business or jeopardize the NAACP suit. For two years, they served between 600 and 650 children. The Virginia Teachers Association also sponsored educational programs, and volunteers from as far away as New England came to tutor and work with the students.

Some parents found ways to get their children schooling in neighboring counties. Dorothy Holcomb’s father rented a dilapidated house in neighboring Appomattox County in order to establish residency. Every morning he drove his children to the empty house so they could get on the school bus that would take them to public school. Other relatives joined them. At some point, Holcomb remembered, twenty-one kids were getting on the bus at that house.

But many rural families didn’t have the resources to transport their children long distances and others couldn’t leave their farms. Alejia “Mickie” Carrington, whose family lived in the country about twenty miles outside Farmville, was nine and ready for fifth grade when her local two-room school closed. Her father worked at a nearby sawmill and she had six siblings, so moving wasn’t an option. “In my area, most of the kids stayed home or they moved away with relatives,” she says. “I just remember we played a lot, we read a lot of magazines, the Sears Catalog. We didn’t have schoolbooks to read. My mother was not very educated but she was very intelligent. She taught us the best she could.”

For white students at Prince Edward Academy, life and school did not change as much. “To me it was just like Farmville High School—same people, same yearbook,” says Scott Harwood, who was a junior when the academy opened. “Going to school in church basements wasn’t fun,” he adds. The academy could not match the resources white students had enjoyed at public school. Classroom supplies were meager, there was no school lunch program, students drove the buses, and extracurricular activities were minimal.

Until the new campus opened in 1961, academy students attended classes in fifteen buildings, including churches. Smith remembers that “all over the county, churches blossomed out with fire escapes whose purpose was to satisfy fire laws pertaining to schools.”

Influential white citizens throughout the South championed the academy. Other southern communities looked to Prince Edward for solutions to avoid integration, and leaders came to tour the academy. At first, the school ran on tuition grants the state and county provided to students. The General Assembly also passed a bill that allowed county residents to deduct up to 25 percent of their property taxes if they contributed to a private school. A 1960 Washington Post article noted, “The county tax office is making it easy to figure the maximum which can be contributed. Bills to white taxpayers carry a penciled notation of the amount in the corner.”

But, in August 1961, a federal court in Richmond ruled that Prince Edward could not use public money to fund private education as long as the public schools were closed. This meant some white families would no longer be able to afford the academy. Parents drained their savings and took on extra work, but some had to make other plans.

Eunice Carwile’s family had ten kids, five of whom were in school. They attended the academy at first, but when they were told there would be a $250 tuition and bus fee for each student, there was no way her parents could afford it. Her mother tried to get her kids into the neighboring Charlotte County public schools, to no avail. Her father, a foreman for a Farmville construction company, had been doing part-time work for a doctor in nearby Burkeville, and the family decided to move there. Moving from the country, where they were free to be “wild children,” to the small, insular town was culture shock, Carwile says. In Burkeville, there were the “been heres” and the “come heres.”

Some families in Prince Edward went into major debt trying to pay for the academy, she says, and some children never finished school. “We all suffered,” says Carwile. “Black people suffered much more, and because they were lower on the economic scale, they didn’t have the ability that we did to recover from that. And that still shows in this community.”

Not all of the county’s white residents wanted to close the public schools, although that didn’t necessarily mean they were pro-integration. A group of moderates that the Foundation mockingly called the “Bush Leaguers” met once to strategize about reopening the public schools, but Foundation supporters showed up to intimidate them. The next day, a list of meeting attendees began circulating around town. The “Bush Leaguers” were socially ostracized and their jobs were threatened. However, some challenges to the segregationists’ status quo were successful. When the Foundation tried to buy the empty public school buildings for the private school, all but one of the school board members resigned and released a statement in favor of public education.

Throughout the school closings, the black and white communities of Prince Edward remained largely divided. AFSC worker Helen Baker wrote in 1961 that there was little communication across the color line: “We laugh in passing about the weather as if we are each unaware of the loads on our hearts because of the children’s absences. We buy and sell and bargain together forever pushing back the truth.”

Reopening and after

In the summer of 1963, as the civil rights movement heated up across the country, picketers filled Farmville’s sidewalks, demanding equal treatment at local businesses and equal job opportunities. Some were arrested for demonstrating without a permit, some for singing on the steps of the white Farmville Baptist Church. But several businesses began hiring black workers.

The Justice Department had previously tried to intervene in the school closings by filing a motion in federal district court, and in 1963—after lobbying from AFSC, PECCA, NAACP, and other groups—Robert Kennedy spearheaded a “Free Schools” program for Prince Edward kids. Funded by major foundations, the National Education Association, and private donors, the schools opened in the fall of 1963 in leased public school buildings, with abundant supplies and teachers from across the country.

By March 1964, Griffin v. County Board of Prince Edward County had made it to the Supreme Court, and, in May, the court ordered the schools to reopen. In September, after a five-year hiatus, Prince Edward students returned to public schools that were intentionally underfunded. Nearly all the students were black, and the private academy continued to operate.

Reentry was difficult for many children, and the schools were disorganized. Some students were reading far below grade level. Carrington, who was thirteen, remembers what it was like to return to school. “When the schools reopened, I’d never rode a school bus, I’d never been out of my little small town,” she says. “They bus us to the elementary school in downtown Farmville. I got off the bus and someone came out and said, if you’re thirteen or older, get back on the bus, you’re going to the high school. I was so frightened I didn’t know what to do.”

Carrington had no trouble with the school work itself. She reentered in seventh grade and the next year was placed in ninth grade. But she found herself hating school, she says, probably because she was out of practice being a student.

It would be decades before the Prince Edward County public schools were truly integrated. In 1969, students would strike again for better resources and black representation on the school board. A few months after the 1969 strike, the Washington Post reported on the progress in Farmville: “In addition to one town policeman, the six deputy sheriffs and some rescue squad members, there are now two Negro justices of the peace, a black on the three-member draft board, a Negro Democratic committeeman, and perhaps most significant of all, two Negroes on the six-member school board.”

The same story noted, “Editor and publisher J. Barrye Wall insists everything is fine and says there never was any trouble in Prince Edward County except what outside newspapers stirred up.”

And the common attitude was “never talk about it again,” Ward says. Many who were involved in the strike and subsequent activism never told their children about it. For years, there was a pervasive lack of trust between black and white residents, as well as tension between white families who sent their children to the academy and those who sent their kids to public schools.

Farmville High School never reopened and was torn down, and some people thought the old Moton High School should be, too. In the mid 1990s, the County Board of Supervisors finally agreed to sell it to the Martha E. Forrester Council of Women, a group that included former Moton teachers and students.

Fergeson hopes the new permanent exhibit, “The Moton School Story: Children of Courage,” can help provide closure and understanding for the students who lived through the school closings. “They are carrying around an emotional burden that they’ve been carrying for fifty years,” she says.

“That museum has been the healing ground for me,” Carrington says. She’s learned for the first time how white families were impacted, befriended a former academy teacher, and done a lot of praying to help get over her anxieties and anger. “I have come so far,” she says. “I’ve surprised myself.”

New Afrikan Outlaw Bob Ferebee & Virginia Dismal Swamp Maroons , Blue Ridge Mountains, Appalachian Mountains Maroon Settlements

  1. 1729, June 29 – Virginia Governor reports attack by whites on Maroon settlement in Blue Ridge Mountains

1825, June 25 – Capture of Bob Ferebee, leader of Maroons in Virginia.

1858-59 May 8-10 – John Brown & Enslaved Afrikans Planned to Set up Maroon Communities in Virginia Appalachian Mountains

By studying the slave revolts of the Caribbean region, Brown learned a great deal about how to properly conduct guerilla warfare. A key element to the prolonged success of this warfare was the establishment of Maroon communities, which are essentially colonies of runaway slaves. As a contemporary article notes, Brown would use these establishments to “retreat from and evade attacks he could not overcome. He would maintain and prolong a guerilla war, of which… Haiti afforded” an example

The idea of creating Maroon communities was the impetus for the creation of John Brown’s “Provisional Constitution and Ordinances for the People of the United States,” which helped to detail how such communities would be governed. However, the idea of Maroon colonies of slaves is not an idea exclusive to the Caribbean region. In fact, Maroon communities riddled the southern United States between the mid-1600s and 1864, especially theGreat Dismal Swamp region of Virginia and North Carolina. Similar to the Haitian Revolution, the Seminole Wars, fought in modern-day Florida, saw the involvement of Maroon communities, which although outnumbered by native allies were more effective fighters.

Outlaw Bob Ferebee & TheGreat Dismal Swamp Maroons

Dismal Swamp Maroons

The Great Dismal Swamp is over one thousand square miles today. In the time of the Maroons it was over two thousand square miles. Its beginning is on a hill from which seven rivers spring. Since the overall area is rather flat, a swamp developed. Several islands are above water level and villages developed on several. Lake Drummond, Paradise Old Fields, and Scratch Hill (mixed swamp and pine barrens) are prominent geologic features. Until the drainage of a large portion of the swamp in the twentieth century, there was an area of giant reeds known as the Green sea. The water of the swamp is black in color, highly acidic, and rumored to have health benefits. Sailors would fill kegs with it for sea voyages since it would stay fresh far longer than regular fresh water. The population of the area probably was never greater than two or three thousand individuals. Virginia Beach and the seer Edgar Cayce (called the sleeping prophet by followers) are the main things the area is known for today.

Life in the swamp was hard. Everything had to be made in the swamp and there was little area suitable for farming. Beds were made of fur and fallen trees and furniture was all hand-hewn. Houses were cleaner than the rural norm and man-made paths led to settlements deeper in the swamp. These did not connect with roads leading out of the swamp and had to be traveled with local guides, thus Maroons worried little from outsiders ambushing them. The developed body armor from turkey feathers stuffed into vests and carried on silver-smithing in the swamp. Shingle manufacture was an enterprise of the border areas, but no record of where the shingle’s Dismal Swamp wood source has come to light. The economic base of the Maroons was communal and they shared housing, food, and household supplies. They worked in gangs for the good of the community and all but the ill and pregnant shared in the work. Settlements were scattered, not clustered, and if one was discovered others likely would not be found easily.

In the Dismal Swamp region on the Virginia/North Carolina border, many slaves and indentured servants escaped to seek freedom. The area was also at the edge of a trading region. These Maroons fought many guerrilla wars to keep their freedom. The most famous was the Maroon war of 1801-1802. They attacked Norfolk, Virginia to free slaves held at the local jail and attacked the Pasquotank Militia. The leader of the Dismal Swamp Maroons at this time was named Peter the Second. He was named after Peter Legba – the Voodon messenger of the Spirits. The Maroons fought in the war of 1812 and gained a leader from a free Black community named Captain Mingo. In the swamp a community named Black Mingo Pocosin developed through his leadership. Some Tuscarora Indians lived in the village and contributed to the heritage that developed.

1823 to 1824 saw the greatest guerrilla warfare in the area since the Revolutionary war. The Maroon leader at that time was Bob Ferebee. Auntie Ferebee was a spiritual leader for the Maroons. One branch of the Ferebees became Maroon leaders and the other became prominent as one of the first families of the white upper South. Indian Town was originally called Culong after a vanquished North Carolina Indian Tribe and was the center for the White Ferebee clan.

The Nat Turner Revolt likely had Dismal Swamp aid since it occurred twenty-five miles from the area. However, Nat Turner proclaimed no aid from outside his area and historians have found no clear linkage. However, Turner and others in the Revolt did plan to retreat to the Dismal Swamp if defeated.

1831 to 1851 saw the development of the Dismal Swamp as a spiritual center. Leaders such as Father Gamby Gholar directed practitioners of Afician mysticism (a religion of the use of sorcery and spiritual powers for benign purposes). He held office for over thirty years. Father Alick, a Black Methodist minister, succeeded him. Father Alick was able to be a leader inside and outside the Dismal swamp, a bee keeper, and served as the area mailman. Father Alick also owned a mule that he claimed was Nat Turner’s mule. The mule had the uncanny ability to climb trees so some claimed it could fly!

The next great leader was Osman. David Hunter Strother was able to draw a charcoal sketch of him in 1856. Harriet Beecher Stowe (author of Uncle Tom’s Cabin) used him as the model for her Dred: A Tale of the Great Dismal Swamp. He died of a painful snakebite before the War Between the States.

The Maroons sided with the North in the War. Records of people in the Dismal Swamp are mostly twentieth century. A family Bible from the area dates to 1635 and has record of a Nansemond Indian linage for settlers from the Northern part of the Dismal Swamp. Wolf and bear trapping and canoe building techniques came from Native American influences as did carrying rabbit’s feet for good luck. However, dream reading, numerology and other religious practices have West Africa or European roots. A Congo Village was found when a portion of the swamp was drained. It was one of the largest and earliest settlements. Built on stilts, it survives as a model of other undiscovered Maroon villages. Besides the stilts, other Maroon villages probably looked similar to it. The leader of the village was King Jonah. He held court and was born on a litter and carried in a procession like in Bantu villages in West Africa.

The Maroons were religious as a whole, but the swamp itself was held as spiritual and their spirituality may derive from that. A group called the seven-fingered glister developed the hereditary spiritual leadership mentioned above. The seven rivers that the swamp grew from gave impetus to a seven-headed hydra-like leadership. If one head was captured, another could grow in its place. Each member was elected for fourteen year terms. Areas of the swamp held special significance, such as Paradise Old Field being a center for Serpent King worship. The symbol of the seven-finger glister was the snake. Besides the seven-headed glister, the area had ministers and witches as spiritual leaders. Grace Sherwood, a victim of a 1706 witch trial, hailed from the swamp. In popular folklore the area was haunted and a center of black magic and supernatural activity. In truth, Maroon freedom was the main fear that the swamp held for area Whites.

Nat Turner & The Great Dismal Swamp Maroons Wanted to a Black Nation

The white residents of Norfolk and other communities near the swamp were terrified of being attacked by the swamp’s maroons. Instead, they got Nat Turner’s insurrection of 1831—a rebellion of slaves and free blacks in which more than 50 whites were killed and then at least 200 blacks killed in reprisal. Turner was planning to hide in the Dismal Swamp with his followers, recruit the maroons and more slaves, and then emerge to overthrow white rule. But his rebellion was suppressed after two days, and Turner, after two months in hiding, was captured and hanged.

What became of the Dismal Swamp maroons? Olmsted thought that very few were left by the 1850s, but he stayed near the canals and didn’t venture into the interior. Sayers has evidence of a thriving community at the nameless site all the way up to the Civil War. “That’s when they came out,” he says. “We’ve found almost nothing after the Civil War. They probably worked themselves back into society as free people.”

Che Guevara Initiates Cuban Literacy Campaign Learning How to Read is Revolutionary

Rebel Literacy: Cuba’s National Literacy Campaign – by Mark Abendroth

Confidence in neo-liberalism has been seriously shaken by the worldwide financial crisis and so it is a good time for re-appraising Cuba’s National Literacy Campaign in 1961 and determining what can be learned from it regarding an alternative model for human development. The Literacy Campaign has been studied before, but Mark Abendroth uses a new analysis based on his theory of critical global citizenship.

The Literacy Campaign is undeniably among the world’s greatest educational accomplishments of the 20 th century. Before the Campaign almost a million Cubans lacked basic schooling due to race, class, gender and geographical isolation. A total force of 308,000 volunteers worked with 707,212 illiterate Cubans and helped achieve a first grade level of reading and writing. Cuba’s overall illiteracy rate was reduced from over 20% to 3.9% in just one year.

Volunteers included popular educators, workers from factories and 100,000 students between the ages of 10 and 19 who carried in their knapsacks a pair of boots, two pairs of socks, an olive-green beret, a blanket, a hammock, a lantern, and copies of a teacher’s manual and a student primer). The volunteers lived and worked with their students during the day and taught them in the evening. This Campaign broke down barriers between urban and rural areas and challenged discrimination against women and Black people. Red flags were hung over doorways signalling Territories Free of Illiteracy. The end of the campaign was celebrated on 22 December 1961 with a Rally of the Pencils outside the National Library at the Plaza de la Revolucion in Havana.

An understanding of the Cuban Revolution and its Literacy Campaign requires a careful study of Cuba’s long history of struggles against colonialism, slavery and illiteracy. Abendroth traces this history back to Cuba’s first revolutionary Hatuey, the Taino warrior who led a resistance against Spanish invaders in 1510. Cuba’s First War of Independence started on 10 October 1868 and freedom fighters such as Carlos Manuel de Cespedes, Maximo Gomez and Antonio Maceo paved the way for Cuba’s most celebrated national hero, Jose Marti, and his struggle for Cuban and Latin American independence. Spanish colonialism was replaced by US neo-colonialism in 1898 and the legacy of this still exists today in the US military base at Guantanamo Bay.

The triumph of the Revolution in 1959 built on these early struggles for independence and Fidel Castro was the latest in a long line of freedom fighters. The seeds of the Literacy Campaign were sewn by the Rebel Army which conducted literacy drives, initiated by Che Guevara. After Batista was ousted in January 1959 the new government began to formulate the National Literacy Campaign early in 1959. Education and ideas would become the primary weapons for defending the Revolution.

Military barracks were converted into schools and 10,000 new classrooms were opened. The Agrarian Reform Law was implemented in June 1959 and campesinos suddenly became owners of the land they worked. Foreign owned factories were nationalised and this put Cuba on a collision course with the US who imposed a trade blockade on the island which exists to this day despite annual UN resolutions, carried by huge margins, calling for it to be lifted. The US backed an attempt to invade Cuba at the Bay of Pigs in April 1961 and this led Castro to declare the socialist nature of the Revolution, which was increasingly influenced by Soviet and Chinese thinking. Abendroth reminds us of the importance that Lenin and Mao attached to education in the building of socialism.

Haki Kweli Shakur 6-14- 52 ADM August Third Collective NAPLA NAIM

The National Literacy Campaign took place at a critical stage of the Revolution when Cuba was faced by increasing US hostility and the threat of invasion. It is argued that the Campaign succeeded in 1959 because it followed the Revolution’s 1959 triumph. Conversely, the Revolution likely would not have survived without the success of the Literacy Campaign. On 26 September 1960 Fidel Castro made the following promise at the UN in New York: ‘In the coming year, our people intend to fight the great battle of illiteracy, with the ambitious goal of teaching every single inhabitant of the country to read and write in one year.’ The Cuban government declared that 1961 would be the Year of Education.

On 5 January 1961 counter-revolutionaries assassinated Conrado Benitez, an 18 year old volunteer teacher in the mountainous Escambray region. Before long, all literacy instructors who left their homes to teach in rural zones became known as Conrado Benitez brigadistas. The National Literacv Commission had four departments ? Technical, Publicity, Finance and Publication ? which worked together to support the volunteers and manage the logistics of the campaign. The manual Alfabeticemos and the primer Venceremos (We will triumph) were the central texts of the campaign. They were tools for literacy instruction and also civics textbooks for the Revolution. Themes of nationalism and internationalism together supported the growing idea of a critical global citizenship.

The Conrado Benitez brigadistas had an average age of 15. They were given seven days training before embarking on their journey to a remote rural region. Over 105,000 instructors had been trained by August 1961. But between July and August a census identified that there were 250,000 more illiterate people than had initially been estimated at the start of the campaign. More instructors were recruited into what became known as Homeland or Death brigades, named after a slogan coined by Fidel Castro. On 5 November Melena del Sur became the first municipality to declare itself free of illiteracy. Tragically, another young teacher, 16 year old Manuel Ascunce, was murdered on 26 November together with the father of his host family, Pedro Lantigua. Like Conrado Benitez, Ascunce became a martyr who inspired Cubans to finish the work of the campaign.

Over 1.25 million Cubans participated in the Campaign either as an instructor or student. Abendroth identifies three themes which ran through the campaign and which are central to his focus on critical global citizenship: civic engagement of youth; popular education; and critical global education. Many of the Cubans who Abendroth interviewed spoke passionately of their sense of global citizenship while remembering their work as instructors or students in the campaign; and it is the testimony of these Campaign participants which forms the most powerful chapter of the book. Here are just three statements, from the many which Abendroth quotes, which sum up the Campaign and its legacy:

‘When I was 17, I couldn’t read or write. When my children were 17, they had finished high school. My daughter is an economist.’

‘Socialism has given us life and has taught us that with work and struggle we can live well with all that we need.’

‘The Literacy Campaign helped instil in me a sense of solidarity with other people.’

This is the essence of critical global citizenship. There are many global problems that will not be resolved until a critical mass develops a conscience of them and a political will to mobilise against them. The Literacy Campaign was one of the greatest achievements of the Revolution. It enabled the development of a free education system, from nursery schools to universities. Everywhere in Cuba there are school buildings and education centres which can be identified by a bust of Jose Marti which stands outside of them. The Literacy Campaign also enabled the development of a thriving publishing industry in Cuba, which is unique among developing countries. This, in turn, enabled book shops to sell books at very affordable prices and there is a passion for books and reading in Cuba which is evident at the annual International Book Fair held in Havana. The Literacy Campaign also enabled Cuba to develop a comprehensive network of public libraries, which are the envy of many developed countries.

The Cuban people have become critical global citizens who will never again be easily subjugated by neo-liberalism or by any other nation. A Battle of Ideas is the latest phase of the Revolution to engage young people in the construction of socialism. Cuba is a giant school in which learning goes far beyond the four walls of a school. Participatory democracy is a reality in Cuba through a local, municipal and national electoral system known as Poder Popular. Cuba continues to send thousands of doctors and teachers to countries in need, and the Yes I Can literacy teaching method has been adopted by 15 countries and has been recognised by UNESCO.

The Literacy Campaign made all of this possible; and the Literacy Campaign was made possible by the Revolution. But the Revolution is still threatened by US aggression, which continues under the Obama administration. Abendroth concludes by setting us all a challenge to sustain the Cuban Revolution and become critical global citizens: ‘People around the world can be moved to pressure the US government to end the blockade and to let Cuba live in peace. This is a worthy project for critical global citizens.’

The Black Laws of Virginia ( Slavery )

Black Laws of Virginia

Source: June Purcell Guild, ed. Black Laws of Virginia: A Summary of the Legislative Acts of Virginia Concerning Negroes from Earliest Times to the Present (Afro-American Historical Society of Fauquier County, Virginia: 1996)

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1638. Act X.
All persons except Negroes are to be provided with arms and ammunition or be fined at the pleasure of the governor and council.

1680. Act V.
Whereas the frequent meetings of considerable numbers of Negro slaves under pretense of feasts and burials is judged of dangerous consequence, it is enacted that no Negro or slave may carry arms, such as any club, staff, gun, sword, or other weapon, nor go from his owner’s plantation without a certificate and then only on necessary occasions; the punishment twenty lashes on the bare back, well laid on. And, further, if any Negro lift up his hand again any Christian he shall receive thirty lashes, and if he absent himself or lie out from his master’s service and resist lawful apprehension, he may be killed and this law shall be published every six months.

1682. Act III.
Whereas the act of 1680 on Negro insurrections has not had the intended effect, it is enacted that church wardens read this and the other act, twice every year, in the time of divine service, or forfeit each of them six hundred pounds of tobacco, and further to prevent insurrections no master or overseer shall allow a Negro slave of another to remain on his plantation above four hours without leave of the slave’s own master.

1691. Act XVI.
An act for suppressing outlying slaves covering divers subjects, states whereas many times Negroes, mulattoes and other slaves lie hid and lurk in obscure places killing hogs and committing other injuries, it is enacted, that the sheriff may raise so many forces from time to time as he shall think convenient for the effectual apprehending of such Negroes. If they resist or runaway they may be killed of destroyed by gun or otherwise whatsoever, provided that the owner of any slave killed shall be paid four thousand pounds of tobacco by the public.

1710. Chapter XVI.
Whereas a Negro slave named Will, belonging to Robt. Ruffin, of the County of Surry, was signally serviceable in discovering a conspiracy of Negroes for levying war in this colony; for reward of his fidelity, it is enacted that the said Will is and forever hereafter shall be free and shall continue to be within this colony, if he think fit to continue. The sum of forty pounds sterling shall be paid the said Robt. Ruffin for the price of Will.

1723. Chapter IV.
Whereas the laws now in force for the better governing of slaves are found insufficient to restrain their unlawful and tumultuous meetings, it is enacted that if any number of Negroes exceeding five conspire to rebel, they shall suffer death, and but utterly excluded the benefit of clergy.
It is reenacted that if slaves are found notoriously guilty of going abroad at night or running away and lying out and cannot be reclaimed from such disorderly discourses, it shall be lawful to direct every such slave to be punished by dismemberment, or any other way not touching life.

1726. Chapter IV.
Runaway slaves, whose masters are not known, may be hired out by the keeper of the public gaol, with a strong iron collar with the letters “P.G.” stamped thereupon.

 

1748. Ch. XXXVIII.
The conspiracy of slaves or their insurrection is a felony and the penalty death without benefit of clergy. I t is repeated that incorrigible slaves going abroad at night may be dismembered by court order and if they die no forfeiture nor punishment shall be incurred.

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1785. Chapter LXXVIII. Every person of whose grandfathers or grandmothers anyone is or shall have been a Negro, although all his other progenitors, except that descending from the Negro shall have been white persons, shall be deemed a mulatto, and so every person who shall have one-fourth or more Negro blood shall in like manner be deemed a mulatto. This act is to be in force from January 1, 1787.

1866. Chapter 17. Every person having one-fourth or more Negro blood shall be deemed a colored person, and every person not a colored person having one-fourth or more Indian blood shall be deemed an Indian.

1878. Chapter 311. Under the subject of offences against morality and decency, it is said: If any white or Negro resident of the state shall go out of the state for the purpose of being married, and with the intention of returning, be married out of it, and return, he shall be as guilty as if the marriage had been in the state.

Any white person who shall intermarry with a Negro, or any Negro who shall intermarry with a white person, shall be confined in the penitentiary from two to five years.

Chapter II: Servants and Slaves in the Sixteen Hundreds

1642. Act XXII. A punishment is provided for loitering runaways in the colony; for a second offense a runaway is to be branded in the cheek with the letter “R.”

It is a felony for a runaway to carry powder and shot, punishable by death.

If there is a complaint of the master for harsh or un-Christian usage or for want of diet, the commissioner may warn the master or mistress.

1655. Act I. Indian children brought in as hostages are not to be treated as slaves.

1661. CIII. Whereas the barbarous usage of some servants by cruel masters brings so much scandal and infamy to the country that people who would adventure hither are through fear diverted, it is enacted that every master shall provide servants with a competent diet, clothing, lodging, and shall not exceed the bounds of moderation in correcting them and a servant may make complaint to the commissioner and have remedy for his grievances.

1669. Act I. If a slave resist his master and by the extremity of the correction, chance to die, his death shall not be a felony, since it cannot be presumed that malice (which alone makes murder a felony) would induce a man to destroy his own estate.

1680. Act X. Whereas the frequent meetings of considerable numbers of Negro slaves under pretense of feasts and burials is judged of dangerous consequence, it is enacted that no Negro or slave may carry arms, such as any club, staff, gun, sword, or other weapon, nor go from his owner’s plantation without a certificate and then only on necessary occasions; the punishment twenty lashes on the bare back, well laid on. And, further, if any Negro lift up his hand against any Christian he shall receive thirty lashes, and if he absent himself or lie out from his master’s service and resist lawful apprehension, he may be killed and this law shall be published every six months.

Chapter III: Servants and Slaves in the Seventeen Hundreds

1705. Chapter XLIX. This is a general act concerning servants and slaves and covers a great many subjects. A number of the sections are given here, and some are summarized elsewhere in this book. Some of the paragraphs cover Negroes only, some refer to runaways and servants generally, some apparently to indentured servants only.

All servants (not being slaves) shall have their complaints received by a justice of the peace, and an order at the discretion of the court may be made as to diet, lodging, clothing and correction. On a second complaint the servant may be sold at an outcry by the sheriff, and after charges deducted the remainder shall be paid to the owner.

Contracts of masters with servants are void unless approved by court; sick or lame servants are not to be discharged, upon pretence of freedom, under penalty.

In case any slave who has run away does not immediately return home after a proclamation at the door of every church in the county, it shall be lawful for any person whatsoever to kill and destroy such slave by such means as may be thought fit without accusation of any crime. If any runaway slave shall be apprehended it shall be lawful to order such punishment, either by dismembering or any other way not touching his life, as may be thought fit, for reclaiming such incorrigible slave, and terrifying others from like practices.

Slaves shall not go armed under penalty of twenty lashes on the bare back, well laid on.

For every slave killed, under this act, the owner shall be paid by the public.

1710. Chapter XVI. Whereas, a Negro slave named Will, belonging to Robt. Ruffin, of the County of Surry, was signally serviceable in discovering a conspiracy of Negroes for levying war in this colony; for a reward of his fidelity hereafter shall be free and shall continue to be within this colony, if he think fit to continue. The sum of forty pounds sterling shall be paid the said Robt. Ruffin for the price of Will.

1732. Chapter VI. Stealing a slave is a felony, and the punishment death without benefit of clergy.

1782. Chapter XXXII. Because greatinconvenience has arisen from persons permitting their slaves to go at large and hire themselves out, under promise of paying their owners money in lieu of services, it is enacted that if slaves are permitted to go at large, they may be sold and disposed of by the sheriff. Twenty-five per cent of the amount of the sale shall go toward lessening the county levy, five per cent to the gaoler and the rest to the owner of the slave.

1785. Chapter LXXVII. No person shall henceforth be a slave in Virginia, except such as were so on the first day of this Assembly and the descendants of the females of them. Slaves hereafter brought in and kept one year shall be free.

A slave shall not go from where he lives without a license of letter showing he has authority from his master.

Slaves shall not keep arms; riots and unlawful assemblies by slaves shall be punished by stripes.

1798. Chapter 4. Free persons conspiring with slaves to rebel shall suffer death. Free persons harboring or entertaining any slave without the master’s consent shall pay ten dollars, free Negroes not able to pay shall receive not to exceed thirty-nine lashes.

 

Maggie L Walker Her Support For Marcus Garvey & The U.N.I.A (Garveyism & Virginia Legacy ) Richmond Virginia

Maggie L Walker Her Support For Marcus Garvey & The U.N.I.A (Garveyism & Virginia Legacy ) Richmond Virginia Native Maggie L Walker Was a Known Supporter of The U.N.I.A. and Marcus Garvey Maggie L Walker The First Woman of any Race to Open and Charter a Bank in The U.S. a mighty feet for a Black Woman in The Slave Holding South. Marcus Garvey and The U.N.I.A has heavy ties to Richmond & Virginia in Totality he spoke here several times including Richmond!

Marcus Garvey (1887-1940) that aimed to liberate Africa from European rule and unite peoples of African descent — and, more broadly all people of color — in the struggle against global white supremacy. Garveyites developed a practice of mass-based, grassroots, liberationist politics that offers important lessons for students and advocates of social justice today,” said Ewing, author of “The Age of Garvey,” which won the 2015 Stuart L. Bernath Book Prize, awarded by the Society for Historians of American Foreign Relations, The black freedom struggle is often understood in the United States as an American phenomenon,” he said. “The Garvey movement is a reminder of — and exceptional example of — the black freedom struggle’s global reach.”

Garveyism, he added, has deep roots in Virginia, where the Universal Negro Improvement Association, a black nationalist fraternal organization founded by Garvey, once operated nearly 50 divisions.

“[Richmond’s] Maggie Lena Walker hung a large photograph of Marcus Garvey in her study, alongside a framed copy of Garvey’s well-known essay, ‘African Fundamentalism,’” he said. “Divisions of the UNIA still operate in Richmond and in Washington, D.C.”

Anniversary Birth … Maggie Lena Walker (1864–1934) of Richmond, Virginia, first black woman to form a bank in the United States

In 1902, she established a newspaper for the organization, The St. Luke Herald. Shortly thereafter, she chartered the St. Luke Penny Savings Bank. Mrs. Walker served as the bank’s first president, which earned her the recognition of being the first black woman to charter a bank in the United States. Later she agreed to serve as chairman of the board of directors when the bank merged with two other Richmond banks to become The Consolidated Bank and Trust Company, which grew to serve generations of Richmonders as an African-American owned institution.

Mrs. Walker to manage a large household. Her work and investments kept the family comfortably situated. When her sons married they brought their wives to 110 1 ⁄ 2 East Leigh Street, her home in Richmond’s Jackson Ward district, the center of Richmond’s African-American business and social life around the start of the 20th century.

Walker received an honorary Master’s degree from Virginia Union University in 1923, and was inducted into the Junior Achievement U.S. Business Hall of Fame in 2002. #MaggieLWalkerDay #TheBlackWallSt #JacksonWard #BlackMecca #HarlemofTheSouth #RVA #RichmondVirginia #1stBlackWomanwithaBank Jackson Ward(Harlem of The South Black Wall St RVA), Black Town Boley -Haki Kweli Shakur

 

UNIA – Universal Negro Improvement Association History in Virginia

https://keyamsha.com/2013/01/22/liberty-university/

Liberty University is probably one of the least known aspects of the movement for the redemption of Africa. The Universal Negro Improvement Association, founded by Marcus Garvey, was sought out to purchase the school. Located in Claremont, Surrey, Virginia on the south shore of the James River, the school was originally founded by John Jefferson Smallwood, the grandson of Nat Turner

The UNIA was approached by the board of trustees of the Smallwood-Corey Industrial Institute after Smallwood’s premature death. The Smallwood-Corey Institute was acquired by the UNIA for $7,300 on June 19, 1926 with UNIA acting President-General Frederick Augustus Toote as trustee. For that sum the UNIA received the property itself, including twelve buildings along with assumption of the institute’s debts of merely $53,000. Among the school’s facilities were:

Three halls named Bagley, Sawyer and Lincoln
Cottages named Mayflower, Sunnyside and Roslyn (aka Roseland)
two sheds, a barn, power house, pump house, and pavillion
The main building on the school’s campus, itself estimated to be worth $100,000 was renamed Garvey Hall. Overall the property was appraised at $250,000.

The renamed Liberty University began its first year of operation on September 15, 1926.

Its first commencement exercises were conducted on Sunday, May 29, 1927. The ceremonies spanned several days. Events commemorating the occasion included “a oratorical contest, a play, an alumni dinner, and an alumni meeting.

Eventually, the property was sold. It is currently not occupied by the university. The image above demonstrates the layout and buildings at the time of purchase. This site is also notable for being the place where the second cargo of Africans brought to America in 1622. With it’s takeover by the UNIA the “John Hay Wharf,” previously known as “Old Claremont Wharf” the landing site for newly arrived Africans in the USA could now be the launching point for Africans working to bring into existence a redeemed, renewed and revitalized Africa.

Black Land Stolen on Amerikkkan Shores

Documented Land taken away from New Afrikans/Blacks through trickery , violence and Murder

Two thousand have been collected in recent years by the Penn Center on St. Helena Island, S.C., an educational institution established for freed slaves during the Civil War. The Land Loss Prevention Project, a group of lawyers in Durham, N.C., who represent blacks in land disputes, said it receives new reports daily. And Heather Gray of the Federation of Southern Cooperatives in Atlanta said her organization has ”file cabinets full of complaints.”

AP’s findings ”are just the tip of one of the biggest crimes of this country’s history,” said Ray Winbush, director of Fisk University’s Institute of Race Relations.

Some examples of land takings documented by the AP:

•After midnight on Oct. 4, 1908, 50 hooded white men surrounded the home of a black farmer in Hickman, Ky., and ordered him to come out for a whipping. When David Walker refused and shot at them instead, the mob poured coal oil on his house and set it afire, according to contemporary newspaper accounts. Pleading for mercy, Walker ran out the front door, followed by four screaming children and his wife, carrying a baby in her arms. The mob shot them all, wounding three children and killing the others. Walker’s oldest son never escaped the burning house. No one was ever charged with the killings, and the surviving children were deprived of the farm their father died defending. Land records show that Walker’s 2 1/2-acre farm was simply folded into the property of a white neighbor. The neighbor soon sold it to another man, whose daughter owns the undeveloped land today.

• In the 1950s and 1960s, a Chevrolet dealer in Holmes County, Miss., acquired hundreds of acres from black farmers by foreclosing on small loans for farm equipment and pickup trucks. Norman Weathersby, then the only dealer in the area, required the farmers to put up their land as security for the loans, county residents who dealt with him said. And the equipment he sold them, they said, often broke down shortly thereafter. Weathersby’s friend, William E. Strider, ran the local Farmers Home Administration – the credit lifeline for many Southern farmers. Area residents, including Erma Russell, 81, said Strider, now dead, was often slow in releasing farm operating loans to blacks. When cash-poor farmers missed payments owed to Weathersby, he took their land. The AP documented eight cases in which Weathersby acquired black-owned farms this way. When he died in 1973, he left more than 700 acres of this land to his family, according to estate papers, deeds and court records.

• In 1964, the state of Alabama sued Lemon Williams and Lawrence Hudson, claiming the cousins had no right to two 40-acre farms their family had worked in Sweet Water, Ala., for nearly a century. The land, officials contended, belonged to the state. Circuit Judge Emmett F. Hildreth urged the state to drop its suit, declaring it would result in ”a severe injustice.” But when the state refused, saying it wanted income from timber on the land, the judge ruled against the family. Today, the land lies empty; the state recently opened some of it to logging. The state’s internal memos and letters on the case are peppered with references to the family’s race.

In the same courthouse where the case was heard, the AP located deeds and tax records documenting that the family had owned the land since an ancestor bought the property on Jan. 3, 1874. Surviving records also show the family paid property taxes on the farms from the mid-1950s until the land was taken.

AP reporters tracked the land cases by reviewing deeds, mortgages, tax records, estate papers, court proceedings, surveyor maps, oil and gas leases, marriage records, census listings, birth records, death certificates and Freedmen’s Bureau archives. Additional documents, including FBI files and Farmers Home Administration records, were obtained through the Freedom of Information Act.

Case of Richmond Virginia Bryan Logan, a 55-year-old sports writer from Washington, D.C., was researching his heritage when he uncovered a connection to 264 acres of riverfront property in Richmond, Va.

 

 

Today, the land is Willow Oaks, an almost exclusively white country club with an assessed value of $2.94 million. But in the 1850s, it was a corn-and-wheat plantation worked by the Howlett slaves – Logan’s ancestors.

Their owner, Thomas Howlett, directed in his will that his 15 slaves be freed, that his plantation be sold and that the slaves receive the proceeds. When he died in 1856, his white relatives challenged the will, but two courts upheld it.

Yet the freed slaves never got a penny.

Benjamin Hatcher, the executor of the estate, simply took over the plantation, court records show. He cleared the timber and mined the stone, providing granite for the Navy and War Department buildings in Washington and the capitol in Richmond, according to records in the National Archives.

When the Civil War ended in 1865, the former slaves complained to the occupying Union Army, which ordered Virginia courts to investigate.

Hatcher testified that he had sold the plantation in 1862 -apparently to his son, Thomas -but had not given the proceeds to the former slaves. Instead, court papers show, the proceeds were invested on their behalf in Confederate War Bonds. There is nothing in the public record to suggest the former slaves wanted their money used to support the Southern war effort.

Moreover, the bonds were purchased in the former slaves’ names in 1864 – a dubious investment at best in the fourth year of the war. Within months, Union armies were marching on Atlanta and Richmond, and the bonds were worthless pieces of paper.

The blacks insisted they were never given even that, but in 1871, Virginia’s highest court ruled that Hatcher was innocent of wrongdoing and that the former slaves were owed nothing.

The following year, the plantation was broken up and sold at a public auction. Hatcher’s son received the proceeds, county records show. In the 1930s, a Richmond businessman cobbled the estate back together; he sold it to Willow Oaks Corp. in 1955 for an unspecified amount.

”I don’t hold anything against Willow Oaks,” Logan said. ”But how Virginia’s courts acted, how they allowed the land to be stolen – it goes against everything Amerikkka stands for.” Documented Land taken away from New Afrikans/Blacks through trickery , violence and Murder

Two thousand have been collected in recent years by the Penn Center on St. Helena Island, S.C., an educational institution established for freed slaves during the Civil War. The Land Loss Prevention Project, a group of lawyers in Durham, N.C., who represent blacks in land disputes, said it receives new reports daily. And Heather Gray of the Federation of Southern Cooperatives in Atlanta said her organization has ”file cabinets full of complaints.”

AP’s findings ”are just the tip of one of the biggest crimes of this country’s history,” said Ray Winbush, director of Fisk University’s Institute of Race Relations.

Some examples of land takings documented by the AP:

•After midnight on Oct. 4, 1908, 50 hooded white men surrounded the home of a black farmer in Hickman, Ky., and ordered him to come out for a whipping. When David Walker refused and shot at them instead, the mob poured coal oil on his house and set it afire, according to contemporary newspaper accounts. Pleading for mercy, Walker ran out the front door, followed by four screaming children and his wife, carrying a baby in her arms. The mob shot them all, wounding three children and killing the others. Walker’s oldest son never escaped the burning house. No one was ever charged with the killings, and the surviving children were deprived of the farm their father died defending. Land records show that Walker’s 2 1/2-acre farm was simply folded into the property of a white neighbor. The neighbor soon sold it to another man, whose daughter owns the undeveloped land today.

• In the 1950s and 1960s, a Chevrolet dealer in Holmes County, Miss., acquired hundreds of acres from black farmers by foreclosing on small loans for farm equipment and pickup trucks. Norman Weathersby, then the only dealer in the area, required the farmers to put up their land as security for the loans, county residents who dealt with him said. And the equipment he sold them, they said, often broke down shortly thereafter. Weathersby’s friend, William E. Strider, ran the local Farmers Home Administration – the credit lifeline for many Southern farmers. Area residents, including Erma Russell, 81, said Strider, now dead, was often slow in releasing farm operating loans to blacks. When cash-poor farmers missed payments owed to Weathersby, he took their land. The AP documented eight cases in which Weathersby acquired black-owned farms this way. When he died in 1973, he left more than 700 acres of this land to his family, according to estate papers, deeds and court records.

• In 1964, the state of Alabama sued Lemon Williams and Lawrence Hudson, claiming the cousins had no right to two 40-acre farms their family had worked in Sweet Water, Ala., for nearly a century. The land, officials contended, belonged to the state. Circuit Judge Emmett F. Hildreth urged the state to drop its suit, declaring it would result in ”a severe injustice.” But when the state refused, saying it wanted income from timber on the land, the judge ruled against the family. Today, the land lies empty; the state recently opened some of it to logging. The state’s internal memos and letters on the case are peppered with references to the family’s race.

In the same courthouse where the case was heard, the AP located deeds and tax records documenting that the family had owned the land since an ancestor bought the property on Jan. 3, 1874. Surviving records also show the family paid property taxes on the farms from the mid-1950s until the land was taken.

AP reporters tracked the land cases by reviewing deeds, mortgages, tax records, estate papers, court proceedings, surveyor maps, oil and gas leases, marriage records, census listings, birth records, death certificates and Freedmen’s Bureau archives. Additional documents, including FBI files and Farmers Home Administration records, were obtained through the Freedom of Information Act.

Case of Richmond Virginia Bryan Logan, a 55-year-old sports writer from Washington, D.C., was researching his heritage when he uncovered a connection to 264 acres of riverfront property in Richmond, Va.

Today, the land is Willow Oaks, an almost exclusively white country club with an assessed value of $2.94 million. But in the 1850s, it was a corn-and-wheat plantation worked by the Howlett slaves – Logan’s ancestors.

Their owner, Thomas Howlett, directed in his will that his 15 slaves be freed, that his plantation be sold and that the slaves receive the proceeds. When he died in 1856, his white relatives challenged the will, but two courts upheld it.

Yet the freed slaves never got a penny.

Benjamin Hatcher, the executor of the estate, simply took over the plantation, court records show. He cleared the timber and mined the stone, providing granite for the Navy and War Department buildings in Washington and the capitol in Richmond, according to records in the National Archives.

When the Civil War ended in 1865, the former slaves complained to the occupying Union Army, which ordered Virginia courts to investigate.

Hatcher testified that he had sold the plantation in 1862 -apparently to his son, Thomas -but had not given the proceeds to the former slaves. Instead, court papers show, the proceeds were invested on their behalf in Confederate War Bonds. There is nothing in the public record to suggest the former slaves wanted their money used to support the Southern war effort.

Moreover, the bonds were purchased in the former slaves’ names in 1864 – a dubious investment at best in the fourth year of the war. Within months, Union armies were marching on Atlanta and Richmond, and the bonds were worthless pieces of paper.

The blacks insisted they were never given even that, but in 1871, Virginia’s highest court ruled that Hatcher was innocent of wrongdoing and that the former slaves were owed nothing.

The following year, the plantation was broken up and sold at a public auction. Hatcher’s son received the proceeds, county records show. In the 1930s, a Richmond businessman cobbled the estate back together; he sold it to Willow Oaks Corp. in 1955 for an unspecified amount.

”I don’t hold anything against Willow Oaks,” Logan said. ”But how Virginia’s courts acted, how they allowed the land to be stolen – it goes against everything Amerikkka stands for.” Documented Land taken away from New Afrikans/Blacks through trickery , violence and Murder

Two thousand have been collected in recent years by the Penn Center on St. Helena Island, S.C., an educational institution established for freed slaves during the Civil War. The Land Loss Prevention Project, a group of lawyers in Durham, N.C., who represent blacks in land disputes, said it receives new reports daily. And Heather Gray of the Federation of Southern Cooperatives in Atlanta said her organization has ”file cabinets full of complaints.”

AP’s findings ”are just the tip of one of the biggest crimes of this country’s history,” said Ray Winbush, director of Fisk University’s Institute of Race Relations.

Some examples of land takings documented by the AP:

•After midnight on Oct. 4, 1908, 50 hooded white men surrounded the home of a black farmer in Hickman, Ky., and ordered him to come out for a whipping. When David Walker refused and shot at them instead, the mob poured coal oil on his house and set it afire, according to contemporary newspaper accounts. Pleading for mercy, Walker ran out the front door, followed by four screaming children and his wife, carrying a baby in her arms. The mob shot them all, wounding three children and killing the others. Walker’s oldest son never escaped the burning house. No one was ever charged with the killings, and the surviving children were deprived of the farm their father died defending. Land records show that Walker’s 2 1/2-acre farm was simply folded into the property of a white neighbor. The neighbor soon sold it to another man, whose daughter owns the undeveloped land today.

• In the 1950s and 1960s, a Chevrolet dealer in Holmes County, Miss., acquired hundreds of acres from black farmers by foreclosing on small loans for farm equipment and pickup trucks. Norman Weathersby, then the only dealer in the area, required the farmers to put up their land as security for the loans, county residents who dealt with him said. And the equipment he sold them, they said, often broke down shortly thereafter. Weathersby’s friend, William E. Strider, ran the local Farmers Home Administration – the credit lifeline for many Southern farmers. Area residents, including Erma Russell, 81, said Strider, now dead, was often slow in releasing farm operating loans to blacks. When cash-poor farmers missed payments owed to Weathersby, he took their land. The AP documented eight cases in which Weathersby acquired black-owned farms this way. When he died in 1973, he left more than 700 acres of this land to his family, according to estate papers, deeds and court records.

• In 1964, the state of Alabama sued Lemon Williams and Lawrence Hudson, claiming the cousins had no right to two 40-acre farms their family had worked in Sweet Water, Ala., for nearly a century. The land, officials contended, belonged to the state. Circuit Judge Emmett F. Hildreth urged the state to drop its suit, declaring it would result in ”a severe injustice.” But when the state refused, saying it wanted income from timber on the land, the judge ruled against the family. Today, the land lies empty; the state recently opened some of it to logging. The state’s internal memos and letters on the case are peppered with references to the family’s race.

In the same courthouse where the case was heard, the AP located deeds and tax records documenting that the family had owned the land since an ancestor bought the property on Jan. 3, 1874. Surviving records also show the family paid property taxes on the farms from the mid-1950s until the land was taken.

AP reporters tracked the land cases by reviewing deeds, mortgages, tax records, estate papers, court proceedings, surveyor maps, oil and gas leases, marriage records, census listings, birth records, death certificates and Freedmen’s Bureau archives. Additional documents, including FBI files and Farmers Home Administration records, were obtained through the Freedom of Information Act.

Case of Richmond Virginia Bryan Logan, a 55-year-old sports writer from Washington, D.C., was researching his heritage when he uncovered a connection to 264 acres of riverfront property in Richmond, Va.

Today, the land is Willow Oaks, an almost exclusively white country club with an assessed value of $2.94 million. But in the 1850s, it was a corn-and-wheat plantation worked by the Howlett slaves – Logan’s ancestors.

Their owner, Thomas Howlett, directed in his will that his 15 slaves be freed, that his plantation be sold and that the slaves receive the proceeds. When he died in 1856, his white relatives challenged the will, but two courts upheld it.

Yet the freed slaves never got a penny.

Benjamin Hatcher, the executor of the estate, simply took over the plantation, court records show. He cleared the timber and mined the stone, providing granite for the Navy and War Department buildings in Washington and the capitol in Richmond, according to records in the National Archives.

When the Civil War ended in 1865, the former slaves complained to the occupying Union Army, which ordered Virginia courts to investigate.

Hatcher testified that he had sold the plantation in 1862 -apparently to his son, Thomas -but had not given the proceeds to the former slaves. Instead, court papers show, the proceeds were invested on their behalf in Confederate War Bonds. There is nothing in the public record to suggest the former slaves wanted their money used to support the Southern war effort.

Moreover, the bonds were purchased in the former slaves’ names in 1864 – a dubious investment at best in the fourth year of the war. Within months, Union armies were marching on Atlanta and Richmond, and the bonds were worthless pieces of paper.

The blacks insisted they were never given even that, but in 1871, Virginia’s highest court ruled that Hatcher was innocent of wrongdoing and that the former slaves were owed nothing.

The following year, the plantation was broken up and sold at a public auction. Hatcher’s son received the proceeds, county records show. In the 1930s, a Richmond businessman cobbled the estate back together; he sold it to Willow Oaks Corp. in 1955 for an unspecified amount.

”I don’t hold anything against Willow Oaks,” Logan said. ”But how Virginia’s courts acted, how they allowed the land to be stolen – it goes against everything Amerikkka stands for…

Black Liberation Army Member, Assata Shakur, Tried on Murder and Assault Charges , KKKourt Sketches

Black Liberation Army Member, Assata Shakur, Tried on Murder and Assault Charges

Chesimard

New Jersey v. Chesimard, 555 F.2d 63 (3d Cir. 1977)

Assata Shakur was born Joanne Deborah Byron and was raised middle-class in Queens. She joined the Black Panthers in college, but the arrests of the Panther leadership in 1969 effectively crushed the organization. The Black Liberation Army (BLA) replaced it.

On May 2, 1973, Shakur participated in a shoot-out on the New Jersey Turnpike that resulted in the death of one state trooper and the wounding of another. Assata Shakur was taken into custody. She conceived a child in prison, and the consideration of her pregnancy resulted in a mistrial. Meanwhile, the City of New York piled charge after charge on Shakur, using weak evidence and the rationale that the BLA had to be stopped. But juries recognized the prosecution’s fragile cases. They dismissed or acquitted, over and over, and as Shakur waited to be tried on the murder and assault charges from the Turnpike shooting, civil rights groups began to see her as a symbol for courage in the face of oppression.

On March 25, 1977, Assata Shakur was found guilty and given the maximum sentence, despite testimony that her bullet scars corresponded to wounds incurred while surrendering. On November 2, 1978, three BLA members took advantage of the poor security at Shakur’s prison and broke her out. She hid in Pittsburgh and then fled to Cuba in 1984, where she secured political asylum. She is currently #4 on the FBI’s Most Wanted Terrorists List.

Who Are New Afrikan Political Prisoners – Haki Kweli Shakur 6-9-52 ADM