Illustration by Victoria Borges
Editor’s note: Richmond officials in October announced plans for a $19 million development of the Lumpkin’s Jail site in Shockoe Bottom, where slaves were held before being sold. In March, the first in a series of public input sessions drew an emotional response, as speakers called for a broader vision. The next Community Engagement Meeting is set for Oct. 21, 9:30 a.m. to 12:30 p.m. at the Richmond Public Library's Main branch, 101 E. Franklin St.
In the shadow of Richmond’s cityscape, Shockoe Bottom is a lively neighborhood of businesses, restaurants and nightclubs, and residential complexes. It’s also a place filled with long-buried stories of pain and loss, of power and profit, of cruelty and oppression. During the mid-19th century, Shockoe Bottom was home to the second largest domestic slave-trading center in America.
But more than 150 years after the Civil War came to a fiery end, it’s hard to find evidence of the 300,000 or more enslaved people who were funneled through Shockoe Bottom’s lucrative slave markets. I’ve often wondered why such historic sites are not accorded the same reverence and respect as, say, the Civil War battlefields.
As a member of the Virginia Department of Historic Resources’ State Review Board, I examined the nomination to the National Register of Historic Places for a multiple property listing called “The Slave Trade as a Commercial Enterprise in Richmond, Virginia.” It was 2008, only three years after the site of Lumpkin’s Jail — also called the Devil’s Half Acre — had been uncovered. This multiple property document provides context for understanding the environment where slavery was an economic engine from 1808 to 1865. Three prior National Register designations in Shockoe Bottom barely mention slavery.
While serving as the curator of African-American history at the Virginia Historical Society, I delved into the primary documents and became familiar with fragmented lives from the past. I scrutinized the names and ages, deciphered family connections and recognized the far-reaching stench of slavery captured on brittle paper with faded ink. Across the commonwealth, black families were separated, bought and sold; most often they were sent to Richmond before being sold farther south or west. It is not the kind of thing you forget or turn off at 5 p.m. I thought about the people, wondered what happened to them. I struggled to make sense of the despicable business that thrived on the sale of human beings. I ruminated on the memories of this place. And I could not turn away from the disparities I saw every day — on the streets, in the media, in boardrooms and in workplaces.
When we give it some thought, if we have any compassion and empathy, we see the connections between slavery and racial discrimination, slavery and health care, slavery and incarceration rates, slavery and child mortality, slavery and education, and slavery and economic inequities in our society today. How can we convey the enormity of the commercial, mercenary selling of humans? How do we interpret an American narrative that has been covered over, dismissed and deemed marginal? Will Richmond step up and tell this significant history from a holistic perspective? What role will oral history have in linking past and present? In what ways will future generations learn from and teach this history based on the work we do now? These are the kinds of questions that come to mind when I think of Shockoe Bottom, which encompasses much more than the archaeological site of the former slave jail. Shockoe Bottom is a crucible for grappling with race and economic disparities, and for recognizing our responsibility to honor the past of all people in the commonwealth.
At its core, Shockoe Bottom represents the tug of war so often associated with landmarks that are rooted in race and trauma. As a Virginian and a public historian, I find it frustrating and disheartening to witness factional divides about how to move forward. While some city representatives want to focus on interpreting the Lumpkin’s Jail/Devil’s Half Acre site, folks from the community and other activists and advocates, such as the Defenders for Freedom, Justice and Equality, want a more comprehensive interpretation of Shockoe Bottom. Although there have been community meetings, no one has put into place an invitation where a sincere dialogue takes place about an overall vision for the historic area. I believe if there is an opportunity to really listen to each other deeply, perhaps break bread together, and tour Shockoe Bottom with sustained attention given to explore our concerns, we can come to a consensus. I would like us to listen to one another, explore the areas where we agree, and determine how we move through disagreements and past misunderstandings.
Shockoe Bottom holds the pain of ancestors, both black and white, who were caught up in the horror of an institution that codified debasement, rape, torture and the dissolution of families. Yet, it also exemplifies the human ties that connect us. It goes beyond black and white to consider the ways in which freedom, privilege and oppression operated in the mid-19th century as well as the ramifications of slavery in our contemporary society. Interpreting this national historic landmark offers an opportunity for greater empathy and understanding across racial, cultural and class divides. It is time to testify about our history as fully as we possibly can. Let’s get it done, Richmond.
Lauranett L. Lee, Ph.D., teaches at the University of Richmond and is a 2017 Community Trustbuilding Fellow with Initiatives of Change/Hope in the Cities. She also consults on public history projects.