Blessed Are We

Blessed Are We

by Sara Makeba Daise

It was warm that day. Unreasonably warm for New Years in Beaufort, SC. Damp air blew in off the saltwater. The sweet, salty scent from the marsh filled everyone's noses. It was still early as they gathered. In hundreds. Black and white. Free and formerly enslaved. The spirits of The Ones who 'd been there centuries before were also present. Watching.

Those alive and in their bodies gathered under that big oak tree on Smith Plantation.

One woman, Sandy, wore her daughter Hurriya wrapped to her body in Mama Venus' old shawl as she walked deliberately toward the growing crowd.

Venus hadn't been her real mama. Sandy's real mama had been sold when Sandy was just a lee gal. Ain nothin but 5 years old. Mama Venus had swept in, like the old folks do, bringing the young Sandy into her own cabin on Laurel Plantation, a cabin that she shared with her sister Osha, and three other kids. All girls. It was rare in some places. A cabin full of women-folk. But rare things often happened on St. Helena Island. The folks there expected the unexpected. Expected the rare.

"What a day, Riri. What a day." Sandy murmured into Hurriya's ear. The two had arrived on foot, like most of the other Black people in attendance. Some had walked for miles from nearby plantations.

Sandy and Riri, too, had made the walk from the plantation where Riri had been born.

Hurriya was big enough to walk, but the closer they'd gotten to the growing crowd, Sandy had chosen to pick her up again. It wasn't fear she'd felt. But excitement. A stirring in her spirit. And affirmation. And she wanted to feel her baby's heartbeat close to her own.

They gathered today to celebrate the proud Black US troops. And to hear that man Brisbane read them freedom words from Lincoln.

William Henry Brisbane, a Baptist minister and former slave owner, had seen the sin rooted in his ways, sold all of his slaves and moved to Ohio. Becoming an avid abolitionist, he later returned to the South, repurchasing and freeing all but one of his former slaves.

And it was he who was given the great honor of reading the Emancipation Proclamation to the people who built this nation with their bodies.

"That on the first day of January, in the year of our Lord one thousand eight hundred and sixty-three, all persons held as slaves within any State or designated part of a State, the people whereof shall then be in rebellion against the United States, shall be then, thenceforward, and forever free; and the Executive Government of the United States, including the military and naval authority thereof, will recognize and maintain the freedom of such persons, and will do no act or acts to repress such persons, or any of them, in any efforts they may make for their actual freedom."

Sandy and many others on the Sea Islands had been "free" for months. Since the day of the Big Gun Shoot. White masters had fled with their families, trying to escape the Union army. Sandy had almost been snatched up that day--her Master Long violently pleading that the women and girls in Mama Venus' cabin pack up and leave with them.

"You ungrateful Black wenches!" Long yelled angrily. "This war don't mean nothin! Lincoln don't mean nothin! You still belong to me, and I said ‚'Get yerselves together and come on!'"

Mama Venus had looked unbothered by his rage, and communicated silently to Sandy and the others that they were not to move. Sitting in front of the open fire in their cabin, Venus just kept stirring a large pot of something faint, staring into the flames as if she couldn't hear anything.

Long had left shortly after. Venus hadn't threatened him. Hadn't acknowledged him at all. His own fear or a world he couldn't explain sent him and his family along with a caravan of other white plantation owners. Attempting to outrun the root of their lies. The costs of their delusions.

Sandy, Venus, and thousands of others had BEEN free for months. Free when the Union came. Free when the masters left. Free when Union troops began raiding abandoned plantation communities for able-bodied Black men to fight in the war. Pillaging for women to service their wants and needs.

Free when the abolitionists and missionaries brought education and contempt for their ancient ways of knowing.

Free.

But Lincoln had called them "contraband."

Today that was different.

Brisbane read:

And I hereby enjoin upon the people so declared to be free to abstain from all violence, unless in necessary self-defence; and I recommend to them that, in all cases when allowed, they labor faithfully for reasonable wages.

And I further declare and make known, that such persons of suitable condition, will be received into the armed service of the United States to garrison forts, positions, stations, and other places, and to man vessels of all sorts in said service.

And upon this act, sincerely believed to be an act of justice, warranted by the Constitution, upon military necessity, I invoke the considerate judgment of mankind, and the gracious favor of Almighty God.

The crowd at Smith Plantation had grown to the thousands. Black and white. The Sea Islanders, the formerly enslaved dressed in their finest wares. Aprons crisp and white. Brightly colored headwraps. Their Gullah language spoken quickly and with passion.

Anyone from out of town who might've heard the Sea Islanders' creole, seen the ocean of shining, Black faces, might've wondered what part of Africa they'd stumbled upon.

Sandy listened intently to the proclamation, sifting through its meaning. She waited to feel seen by those bringing this long, long-awaited message. Waited for the words to match some truth she knew.

And then a young man's voice broke through the crowd, piercing through the excited chatter.

"My country 'tis of thee..."

There was a hush. And a murmur as the young man sang.

As if encouraged by those unseen spirits, other newly free Sea Islanders joined in his song.

"Sweet land of liberty..."

Sun shown on her face, and the face of her baby as Sandy, too, added her voice to the thousands. The song felt like a long exhale.

"Land where our fathers died." Sandy sang... Thinking of Venus. Thinking of her mama.

Carved out her space in time as she sang.

"Let freedom ring..."

Even if only remembered by her daughter. Hurriyya.

No longer slave.

No longer contraband.

Sandy and Hurriyya were free.

Their people were free.

Free.

She wept. Shuddered as the eloquent and prickly words washed over and through her. Other people hugged loved ones close. Men did not attempt to hide their tears. The crowd swayed and shook.

Their words lifted, swirling and spiraling around the egrets whose wings flapped, seemingly bringing the voices higher. And higher.

Free.

Sandy smiled. Finally feeling seen. Tears slid down her cheeks, pooling in the kinky hair of her daughter.

Her daughter Hurriya who knew. Who'd known before the white man came and read the words that caused her mama's heart to thump thump thump.

Hurriya had known before she came to her mama. Before she'd swam around inside her. Sharing blood. Nutrients. Breath. Before being born into government-sanctioned slavery.

She'd known before all of this. Came here knowing.

Came here free.

No. This white man hadn't brought her any new information. Lincoln wasn't offering some new perspective.

They were born free. Born free into a world where folks had decided based on some supposed divine authority, that they were slaves.

Hurriya giggled as the harmonies soared around and over her, reminding her of the home and love she came from. Her mama's tears reminded her of things she knew. Things she'd come here to teach.

Ignited. Charged. Message received from messenger.

"Free" she gurgled to herself.

"Free" her mama said back.

And everything around them affirmed this message.

"Free to be as we are," the birds seemed to sing.

"Free to be as bright as I was created to be", the sun seemed to shine.

"I came into this world with everything I'll ever need," sang the birds above the crowd.

"I am not to be owned. My presence is a present. A gift," spoke the grass.

"We belong to no one. We are connected to everything and attached to nothing. We are one." The trees stared.

"I am limitless space," the sky exhaled.

And Blessed were those who gathered there. To feel everything around them affirm their freedom.

And Blessed are free Black women, whose liberation necessitates the destruction of every form of oppression.

Sources:

Conley, Casey. "'Oh, Freedom': Hundreds gather in Beaufort to mark the 150th anniversary of slavery's end." The Beaufort Gazette, January 1, 2013.

https://www.islandpacket.com/news/local/community/beaufort-news/article33493509.html

Transcript of Emancipation Proclamation (1863).

https://www.ourdocuments.gov/doc.php?flash=false&doc=34&page=transcript