Dismantling Black Manhood: An Historical and Literary Analysis of the Legacy of Slavery 0815328575, 9780815328575

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S T U D I E S IN

AFRICAN AMERICAN HISTORY AND CULTURE

edited

by

GRAHAM HODGES COLGATE UNIVERSITY

A G A R L A N D SERIES

DISMANTLING BLACK M A N H O O D A N H I S T O R I C A L AND L I T E R A R Y A N A L Y S I S OF THE L E G A C Y OF SLAVERY

D A N I E L P. BLACK

O Routledge §

i k Taylor &. Francis Group www.routledge.com

First published by Garland Publishing, Inc This edition by Routledge Routledge Taylor & Francis Group 270 Madison Avenue New York, NY 10016

Routledge Taylor & Francis Group 2 Park Square, Milton Park Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN

Copyright © 1997 Daniel P. Black All rights reserved

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Black, Daniel P., 1965Dismantling black manhood : an historical and literary analysis of the legacy of slavery. p. cm. — (Studies in African American history and culture) Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 0-8153-2857-5 (alk. paper) 1. Slaves—United States—Social conditions. 2. Afro-American men—-Social conditions. 3. Slavery—United States—Psychological aspects. 4. Masculinity (Psychology) 5. Slaves5 writings. American. 6. Africa., West—Social conditions. I. Title. II. Series. E443.B47 1997 305.38 3 896073—dc21 96-53852

Contents Acknowledgements

vii

Introduction

3

The Concept of Manhood in Pre-Colonial West Africa

11

The Impact of the Long March and the Middle Passage on the West African Concept of Manhood

43

Plantation Existence and the West African Concept of Manhood

63

The Concept of Manhood and the Enslaved African American Male

99

The Concept of Manhood and the Free Black Male of the 19th Century

137

Recommendations for Further Study

175

Bibliography

183

Index

189

v

Acknowledgements I would first like to give all praises and thanks to the Almighty without whom my existence would not be possible. Then, to my parents, Harold and Doris Black in Blackwell,Arkansas I say "thank you"; to Nathaniel and Rose Norment ,1 stand as testimony that you both shall have a crown in the kingdom of God; to Kariamu Welsh-Asante, Sonja Peterson-Lewis, Abu Abarry and Sonia Sanchez, the advisors of this project, a humble "thank you"; to Gillian Johns, whose editorial assistance was simply invaluable; to my Ndugu and Nzinga sons and daughters, "thank you" for supporting me always and for loving me enough to follow me; to my sister, Arninata-Rabi (Lisa), what can I say?; in memory of my mother, Laura Jean Dawson-Black; to my elders, Stella Virginia Swinton, Billie Joyce Harris, Marion Spears, Theima Dawson; and, finally, to all my precious friends all over the country who keep my love supply full.

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Dismantling Black Manhood

I Introduction On the morning of June 24th, 1991, Ollie Hartley committed suicide. It was a Monday. He had been informed by the City of New York Department of Sanitation of his lay-off starting the coming Friday. But, for Ollie, Friday never came. Another demonstration of his impotence was simply too much for him to bear. So he killed himself. According to the report, "Ollie Hartley leapt to his death from the roof of his 14-story apartment building in New York City."1 It was 4:30 a.m. He was young (29), black, male, and tired of America "taking his soul." He had struggled incessantly within a racist society to prove his manhood both to himself and to his wife and two children. However, his lay-off convinced him, once again, that, as a black male in America, his attempt to be a man was futile. Hence, he forsook the attempt and ended his life. The ubiquitous nature of racism and its effects on black men had probably never been explained to this victim. Had they been, he might have realized that, as Baldwin says in Blues for Mister Charlie, "manhood is a dangerous pursuit,"2 especially for black men in America. He might have begun to recognize those obstacles—social, economic or political—which retard a black man's material progression, so much so that attempting to secure manhood often appears useless. Such enlightenment could have given Ollie Hartley insight into the machinations used by the dominant racial discourse to keep him and other black men just far enough away from manhood to see it, though never allowing them to attain it. But he didn't know. Neither do so many other black men. Consequently, Ollie Hartley's tragic fate repeats itself through the lives of thousands of others. In "Plight of the Young Black Man," William Raspberry postulates that black males everywhere are dying and being incarcerated because of the anger and 3

4

Dismantling Black Manhood

fiiistration they embody as a result of their perceived inability to be men. He concurs with John Jacob, former president of the Urban League, who says that the black male problem in America is "especially devastating," for "jobless and hopeless men are worthless as husbands" and social citizens.3 Raspberry further implies that the black male struggle for manhood is at the core of black male crime and other undesirable behavior, and that until black men acquire some mechanism whereby they can feel secure in their manhood, "the problem [will] grow rapidly worse."4 However, if one would understand folly the black male struggle for manhood in America, it must first be noted that the dilemma is an age-old one. indeed, black men have wrestled with the concept and the attainment of manhood since the days of their enslavement by Europeans. Therefore, to understand the evolution of the African American concept of manhood and its accompanying challenges, it appears logical to examine first its meaning prior to and during the Great Enslavement. To begin the examination here means that one is able to identify the ideological antecedents of the concept of black manhood which operated during the African male's transformation into the African American male. For instance, the West African males first exploited on American plantations arrived believing manhood to be simply the fulfillment of their sociofamilial roles as fathers, husbands, and warriors.5 Yel plantation life destroyed their ability to fulfill these roles satisfactorily, and captivity alone meant that they no longer enjoyed the status of warriors, in his seminal study, The Slave Co/w/WMW//y,Blassingame notes that, in most instances: when the [male] slave lived on the same plantation with his mate, he could rarely escape frequent demonstrations of his powerlessness. The master, and not the [male] slave furnished the cabin, clothes and the minimal food for his wife and children. Under such a regime slave fathers had little to no authority.6 Consequently, their manhood was diminished as they were forced to relinquish their autonomy and comply with the captor's will. In fact, enslaved men soon realized that, unlike al home, manhood in America was not every man's to enjoy; rather, it was a luxury enjoyed primarily by white men, as they had the resources African men deemed necessary to consider oneself a

Introduction

5

man. W.H. Robinson, an enslaved male poet, best illustrates the impotence experienced by black men on American plantations when he writes: O where has mother gone, papa? What makes you look so sad? Why sit you here alone, papa? Has anyone made you mad? O, tell me, dear papa Has master punished you again? Shall I go bring the salt, papa, to rub your back and cure the pain?7 Clearly, the African male is displaced here, for it is now the child who nurtures the father. "Papa" can either submit to the care of the child or ignore him, thereby abandoning his last familial tie. Either option promises to exacerbate his perceived worthlessness, reinforcing the reality that, for the enslaved male, manhood is practically impossible to secure. Further, the tone of the poem suggests that, when juxtaposed with the captor, Papa is the disobedient child whose opinions and feelings carry absolutely no weight. He must conform to "master's" whims, whatever the cost, and is left with little more than the memory of his public emasculation. In the end, his "madness" is more than mere anger; indeed, the abuse and marginalization he experiences assure him a certain level of psychological instability as he attempts to attain manhood within a system which often denies that very act. Throughout the 18th and 19th centuries, black men in America wrote about this incessant struggle for manhood. Narratives abound which speak of black men attempting to retain some sense of self while constantly being reminded of their servitude. For example, in Twenty Two Years a Slave, Austin Steward reports that the greatest struggle he and other black men had to endure was to see their wives exploited while they were forced to "submit without a murmur."8 Actually, black men could afford their wives absolutely no protection and understood this reality as the greatest of insults to their manhood. In another text, Narrative of the Life and Adventures of Henry Bibb, Bibb says that, as a child, "1 was flogged up; for where 1 should have received moral, mental and religious instruction, I received stripes without number, the object of which was to degrade and keep me in subordination."9 Bibb's experience was certainly not an isolated one. Captors everywhere

6

Dismantling Black Manhood

shared the desire to "keep black men in their place"—one of immeasurable degradation and unbelievable shame. One of the goals of enslavement, to be sure, was to destroy any sense of power or pride the African male possessed, that is, his manhood, and captors went to great lengths to achieve this end.10 Yet we learn from various narratives that black men did not simply acquiesce in this cruelty. Quite the contrary, they explored every avenue—including death—whereby they might stand in defense of themselves. Even before they stepped foot on American soil they showed themselves rebellious. One Captain of a slave vessel reports: We found a great deal of discontent among the Slaves, particularly the Men, which continued [from the 14th] till the 16th about Five o'clock in the Evening, when to our great Amazement about an hundred Men Slaves jump'd over board, and it was with great difficulty we sav'd so many as we did; out of the whole we lost 33 of as good Men Slaves as we had on board, who would not endeavor to save themselves, but resolv'd to die, and to sink directly down. Many more of them were taken up almost drown'd, some of them died since.11 And those who survived often attempted escape or other forms of resistance on the plantation such that captors soon feared the various mechanisms by which men sought to reclaim their selfhood or manhood. In his well-known narrative, Douglass laments: Why was I bora a man of whom to make a brute! I am left in the hottest hell of unending slavery. O, God, save me! God deliver me! Let me be free! Is there any God? Why am I a Slave? 1 will run away. I will not stand it. Get caught or get clear, I'll try it...12 Fortunately, he made it; most black men did not. Regarded and treated as property without means of retaliation, they could do little more than live their lives hoping and praying for release. Stripped of virility and the ability to fill the roles of father and husband adequately, enslaved black men were left, finally, with little more than a newly acquired inferiority complex. Yet they were not alone. Even free black men of the early 19th century wrote of their

Introduction

7

persistent attempt to secure manhood in the midst of a society which worked against their efforts. This struggle with the idea and the attainment of manhood emerges as the major theme in the black male narrative of the 18th and 19th centuries and serves as focus for the ensuing examination. More specifically, my goal isfirstto establish the meaning of manhood in pre-colonial West Africa—the region from which most enslaved Africans originated13—and then to determine the character, meaning, and evolution of the African American male's concept of manhood via selected slave and free narratives written between 1794 and 1863. The first date was chosen because 1794 marks the date of Gustavus Vassa's Interesting Narrative, which begins the literary tradition of black male writers who examine "the humiliating 'double bind' of proving one's manhood while being denied access to the legitimate tools with which to do so."141 choose to conclude the study in 1863 essentially because this date marks the end of enslavement-the period with which this first volume is primarily concerned—and because this time frame makes for a realistic research design. Important to note is that this text is part of a recent trend in African American letters towards scholarship committed to rectifying the troubled Black male. Jawanza Kunjufii,15 Richard Majors, Haki Madhubuti and numerous others have also assumed my subject and contributed invaluable information towards probable causes and solutions. For example, in Cool Pose: The Dilemmas of Black Manhood in America, Richard Majors argues that the Black male drive to be "cool" is his way of coping with racism and discrimination without losing his sanity. Said differently, "coolness" is a survival mechanism which allows Black men some element of control over their lives: Being cool invigorates a life that would otherwise be degrading and empty. It helps the black male make sense out of his life and get what he wantsfromothers. Cool pose brings a dynamic vitality into the black male's everyday encounters, transforming the mundane into the sublime and making the routine spectacular.16 Majors is careful to warn against immediate rejection of cool stance by some who might associate this pose with negative street activity. Quite the contrary, Majors connects the tradition of cool in America with the search for

8

Dismantling Black Manhood

balance and harmony in many African communities, implying that this Black male virtue accompanied African men to America and could serve as a mechanism taught by the contemporary Black community to keep Black boys alive. Others, too, have wrestled with the Black male conundrum. In Representing Black Men, various authors toy with subjects such as homosexuality and the Black Male, Spike Lee's place in the construction of contemporary Black male ideology, and the Black male struggle with gender equality.17 But none seems to know the origin of the crisis. Hence the value of this text. For although Representing Black Men and other such books offer incredible ways of reading scholarship with the Black male as central figure, the void surrounding the need for the birth of the discourse remains unfilled. Dismantling Black Manhood seeks to fill that void. To some degree, Oba T'Shaka's Return to the African Mother Principle of Male and Female Equality speaks to the void by explaining the current Black male situation as a break awayfromtraditional African values.l8 In other words, a return to an African-centered worldview, T'Shaka believes, would render the Black male enigma obsolete, for such a move would place the Black man and woman in a sphere wherein love of self and self-determination would evolve naturally. With this thesis I pose no argument. However, the process by which we lost that African center and the resulting ideological shifts concerning masculinity must be deleneated before we are to comprehend fully the situation at hand. Herein is the contribution of Dismantling Black Manhood. And with such a contribution, anthologies such as Brotherman: The Odyssey of Black Men in America19 become more contextually potent and historically comprehensible. Hopefully, this book, along with other scholarship on the same subject, will equip the Black community with the intellectual tools necessary to assure the survival of Black men in America.

Introduction

9 NOTES

1. William Strickland, "Taking Our Souls: The War Against Black Men," Essence, 22 #7, November 1991, 48 2. James Baldwin, Blues for Mister Charlie, in Contemporary Black Drama, ed Clinton F. Oliver (New York: Charles Scribner's Sons, 1971), 303. 3. William Raspberry, "Plight of the Young Black Man," Washington Post, Friday, January 31,1986, 21 4. Ibid 5. Geoffrey Gorer, Africa Dances (New York: Alfred A Knopf, 1935), 51. 6. John W Blassingame, The Slave Community (New York: Oxford University Press, 1979), 172. 7. WH. Robinson, From Log Cabin to the Pulpit (Eau Clare, Wisconsin, 1913). 8. Austin Steward, Twenty Two Years a Slave, And Forty Years A Freeman (Rochester, New York, 1861), 18 9. Henry Bibb, Narrative of the Life and Adventures of Henry Bibb, an American Slave in Gilbert Osofsky, Puttin' On Ole Massa (New York: Harper and Row, 1969), 64 10. DeBow's Review XIX (Sept 1855), 361-62. 11. Quoted in Blassingame, The Slave Community, 7-10. 12. Frederick Douglass, My Bondage and My Freedom (New York: Miller, Orton and Mulligan, 1968 [originally published in 1855]), 89 13. John Hope Franklin, From Slavery to Freedom (New York: Alfred A Knopf, 1974 (4th edition), 45. 14. Noel A Cazenave, "Black Men in America: The Quest for Manhood," in Harriet McAdoo (ed.) Black Families, 1st edition (Beverly Hills, California: SAGE Publications, 1981), 178. 15. Jawanza Kunjufu, Countering the Conspiracy to destroy Black Boys (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1983) 16. Richard Majors and Janet Mancini Billson, Cool Pose: The Dilemmas of Black Manhood in America (New York: Touchstone, 1992), 2.

10

Dismantling Black Manhood

17. Marcellus Blount and George P Conningham, eds., Representing Black Men (New York: Routledge, 1996). 18. Oba T'Shaka, Return to the African Mother Principle of Male and Female Equality (Oakland, California: Pan Afrikan Publishers, 1995), xxi-xxv 19. Herb Boyd and Robert L Allen, eds., Brotherman: The Odyssey of Black Men in America (New York: Ballantine Books, 1995).

II The Concept of Manhood in Pre-Colonial West Africa Prior to large-scale European intrusion, the concept of manhood throughout West African communities was quite unlike the notion possessed by black males in the United States today. For one, the concept was much more rigidly defined, with most communities having a series of rites by which males acquired the status of "man." In post-modern America, however, the concept of manhood espoused by black males tends not to have a collective conceptual basis, probably because of the lack of consciously structured systems by which black males acquire manhood. Not surprisingly then, the definition is usually an individual's own. Yet, to be sure, West Africa, as a very large region of an even larger continent, was never culturally monolithic, with the idea of manhood exactly the same everywhere. However, the striking intervillage parallels concerning the concept of manhood in pre-colonial West Africa assure that it can be examined as a regional phenomenon, differences notwithstanding. Before exploring the specifics, we should note that, during pre-colonial times in West Africa, manhood was primarily a socially-owned and operated construct.1 In other words, males did not consider themselves men, regardless of their age or perceived worth. Only the community, that is, other men and women, possessed this right. In fact, males who boasted of thenindividual achievements or wealth, indirectly proclaiming the extent of their manhood, were usually shunned and cautioned that "one man cannot build a town."2 Individual achievements alone were not seen by most West African communities as evidence that a male understood what it meant to be a man. Indeed, proverbs andfolktalessuggest that manhood was inextricably linked to a male's ability to support others, whatever that entailed. Actually, the //

12

Dismantling Black Manhood

concept of manhood in pre-colonial West Africa was so socially constructed that a male child underwent a series of initiations whereby he was introduced to "the male world"3 and taught to uphold the idea of manhood as defined by his fathers. More specifically, West African oral literature, as well as anthropological accounts, suggests that the status of manhood in pre-colonial West Africa was usually attained via four consecutive stages: boyhood rites of passage, demonstrations of physical prowess as adolescents, husbandhood, and fatherhood. Only after a male experienced these four stages of maturation did the community consider him a man—one who could fend for himself and procreate like other men of the village.

Rites of Passage But long before a boy became a man, he underwent numerous rites of passage which differed slightly from one West African village to the next. However, the goal was usually the same. In essence, these highly-symbolic, ritualized ceremonies sought to introduce boys to male behavior, male social roles, and male-centered camaraderie, that is, the various aspects of manhood. In most communities, boys experienced at least three different rites of passage, the first occurring shortly after birth. Among the Afikpo Igbo people of southeastern Nigeria, for instance, three weeks after a male child was bom, the father took him and presented him to male elders, proclaiming such prophetic statements as "here is our next warrior" or "here is he who will grow the biggest yams."4 Other men gathered around and congratulated the father on being blessed by the ancestors with a son. A feasi usually ensued, at which time the father paid homage to his wife and the spirits, asking them to watch over his son as he joined the ranks of the living. If this son were the first-bora, the ceremony was often more elaborate and much more festive.5 The belief was that, although the male child was not fully conscious of the event, his spirit was; consequently, the ritual assured that both his physical and spiritual transition from boyhood to manhood would be successful because his spirit had been welcomed by other male spirits even before he knew himself. However, because he was still an infant, the child still spent most of his days with his mother. Women also aided the male baby's introduction to the male world. Igbo women sang lullabies to baby boys with refrains such as "If your father sends you to do work for him, do it!"6 In other places, both

Manhood in Pre-colonial West Africa

13

men and women sent (figuratively) the spirits of male children to convene with those of the community's male secret order by laying hands on the child and repeating "spirit of our fathers, make him strong and courageous."7 These verbal reinforcements of a male child's identity began the social construction of his masculinity years before he would become aware of it himself. Similar ceremonies took place throughout West Africa. Boys in Sierra Leone, for example, were also first introduced to Pom, or male societies, as infants. As with the Afikpo group of Nigeria, those in Sierra Leone believed that a male child's spirit should learn about realities associated strictly with men as soon as possible in order that he later possess a firmly rooted male sensibility. Basil Davidson notes that fathers in pre-colonial Sierra Leone would often take male babies and show them off to other men, as a sign both that the fathers were blessed by God and that their family lineage would now be strengthened.8 Fathers also celebrated female children as gifts from God, although not to the same extent as male children. In patriarchal societies—as most West African communities were—males were privileged as the more valuable of the two sexes. The birth of a boy brought utter jubilation to villages, especially men, as male progeny were viewed as those who would continue their fathers' legacy. In many West African countries, such as Ghana and the Ivory Coast, male children also ignited celebration because boys were considered to be their fathers' most prized possession.9 Indeed, from their entry into the world, male children were inundated with male-centered behavior and ideology in preparation for their later existence as men of their respective communities. A second rite of passage usually occurred when boys were between the ages of four and seven. Actually, as far as the boys were concerned, this was the first initiation, for the one which occurred at birth they could not recall. In most villages, the boys were gathered together by their fathers and taken to a designated place away from the physical community. Onitsha men of eastern Nigeria then referred to their boys as umuilo or "youths of the square."10 Afikpo boys were called nwa enna or "child-uninitiated."11 During this initiation process, boys learned to function in groups with their peers and to regard their male superiors as examples of acceptable behavior. Yet it appears that the most important quality for boys to master during this moment of transition was discipline. In one place, boys were shaven and

14

Dismantling Black Manhood

made to walk between double rows of older boys of the previous initiation group as the latter flogged them severely. This practice was designed to teach boys that the correction and discipline administered by their elders was not only good for them but, in fact, necessary if they were ever to achieve the status of other great men of the community.12 Pieter de Marees, a Dutch traveler of the 1600s, was so amazed at the care with which Guinea fathers taught their sons discipline and other aspects of male behavior that he refers to this subject several times in his travel log.13 Boys also learned during the second ritual that the emotional dimension of their character—a reality male initiators attributed to the influence of women—was to be brought under complete subjection as they bonded more strongly with other boys and men. For instance, if a boy wept during the second initiation, for whatever reason, or evidenced fear and timidity, he was frowned upon by all and, in some instances, thrashed.14 West African communities had very clear, rigid ideas of how a male should behave and carry himself; consequently, this age 4-7 initiation process started boys on the road to being men as defined by their particular villages. Circumcision was often an aspect of the second stage of initiation. It was believed that circumcision cleansed one's body of impurities and prepared a boy for "the connubial state, an introduction to the full prerogatives of manhood."15 Although the operation was certainly painful, boys were expected to endure the trial without screaming or weeping. They often prayed, "O spirit of the strong, help me to endure: O spirit of the warrior, help me to bear pain without flinching." Or "O spirit of my grandfather, thou wert initiated here: listen to me and answer me for today I also must be initiated, i also must suffer the pain of circumcision: I pray thee help me and guide me through the rite."16 Usually, the flesh taken from boys and the blood resulting from the operation were sacrificed to the gods of fertility in hopes that boys would one day reproduce in great measure. Circumcision often marked the end of the second initiation process. The third stage of initiation was no doubt the most structured and the most difficult for boys to endure. It usually occurred when they were between 9 and 13 years of age. In some places, male initiators built huts specifically designed for the ensuing ritual. It was the boys' job to clean the hut and the area around it in preparation for the initiation ceremony. Usually, boys were not allowed to wash themselves during the third initiation, but were compelled to do so at the completion of the rite. The idea was that "this was

Manhood in Pre-colonial West Africa

15

a symbolicrite.They wash away the filth of their youth. They must not wash in a downward, but in an upward direction,"17 symbolizing growth. During the ceremony, discipline was again privileged as the most critical attribute for boys to master. One account records that "the initiation boys are required to take a pebble in their mouths. Each boy is then given two severe blows and he must afterwards spit out the pebble into a hole in the ground. If the boy writhes and cries he loses the pebble and is disgraced."18 in Guinea, an old man recalled the following account: The men say, ' Come out of the cubicles, we want to tell you something.' We all came out and gathered in the center of the house. Then they said,' We don't want to tell you anything, we want you to have some sugarcane. All of you get down on the floor in a line.' Our arms were underneath us against our stomachs, and they threw the sugarcane onto our backs. They didn't just lay them down on us, they threw them down hard! They kept on piling on the bundles until there was a big heap. Then the men said, 'Try to throw the sugarcane off. We want to see if you can throw it off and toss it about, or if the cane can keep you down.' We tried with all our strength and threw off the cane bundles in all directions. They said,' Oh, it looks like you are really strong.' Then they said, 'It is our custom to plant sugarcane for all to eat, but it is hard work and gives us pain. Now you have felt the pain of sugarcane.'19 Discipline, emotional stability, perseverance, and strength were stressed at this juncture in boys' lives. Throughout the days or weeks of the third initiation, fathers or male guardians trained boys to persevere, sometimes via hunting exercises and other times via the patience required to learn the difference between edible and poisonous fruit and vegetation.20 Boys were also taught during the third initiation that unity and respect are what make a people strong. One report of the third ritual tells that fathers tied their sons together with thread and moss by their toes and "prayed that each male member be as strongly attached to each other and the society as the thread and moss which bind them together."21 Disrespect toward any person, especially an elder, was not permissible during initiation, and boys understood that their success as a group was directly proportional to their ability to reverence others.

16

Dismantling Black Manhood

During this stage, boys became deeply entrenched in the history and lore of their people. In fact, Onitsha boys were "governed by the fear that if they did not learn their tradition well and follow traditional rules in solidarity with their mates, [the ancestors] would in fact devour them."22 In other places, boys were required to learn individual family histories and to recite them at the request of any elder. This was no small task, to be sure. For many boys, family members numbered into the hundreds; simply to know their names—accomplishments aside—was certainly a major achievement. Nevertheless, boys met the requirement in order to show themselves worthy of adult male affirmation and praise. Often, such praise resulted from boys' participation in an aesthetic component of the third stage initiation process. Ln some places in Nigeria, at a certain point in the ceremony, boys performed plays, which they wrote and directed. They disguised themselves in self-made masks and costumes and produced a masquerade of sorts, using their own cultural history and lore as dramatic text, as Ottenberg reports: In former times veryfineperformances were put on by members of the third stage of the boys' society;... As a result of the decline in size and organization of the boy's societies, the plays are not nearly as rich today. They are staged at the clearing of the society, or sometimes in a play area reserved for the uninitiated near the main commons of the village. In the old days, men, women, and children attended; nowadays it is largely girls and boys. The players practice in secret for a month or more; the boys' society leaders choose which boys will play what roles. Boys bring stories about villagers to the leaders and gifted youths turn these into songs and acts. In its best form the boy's kumkpa lasts a number of hours, has many skits and parts to it, and is a complex and sophisticated popular entertainment form, requiring skill and imagination on the part of the players. The boys mimic the voices and physical behavior of adults. Since the boys sometimes dress and act as girls and women, always popular with the audience, they reiterate their maleness by playing females, a paradox of gender separation; they experiment with what it is like to be female, in the process of establishing their maleness. At the same time, masking

Manhood in Pre-colonial West Africa

17

psychologically and socially distances the boys from females by means of the taboos against females touching the masqueraders, seeing them dress and undress or wearing masks themselves. Masquerading is an aesthetic device, with all its complex symbolism, to separate the growing boy from his mother, who is now on the other side of the fence, as it were. Here art and aesthetics act in the service of boyhood maturation, whatever else they do.23 Aesthetics also influenced third stage boyhood initiation rituals in the form of dance. Numerous accounts speak of boys "dancing the dance of initiation": This is carried out in a bent position, and the boys are not to look to their left or right. The principal step consists in jumpmg from one foot to the other and giving a backward kick with the disengaged foot. The dance is continued until sunset.24 In traditional days, the Yungur people of Nigeria believed that the dance brought cohesion to the initiates and kept them in touch with their elders and ancestors—their source of wisdom and strength. Most historical accounts consulted speak of boys dancing at some point in their rite o[ passage experience, probably for reasons similar to those just mentioned. So by age 13 or thereabout, West African boys had experienced a series of initiations whereby they were embraced and affirmed by other men of their communiry and introduced formally to the West African male sensibility. These ritual exercises affirmed boys' selfhood and assured that they understood the value of one another. Because females were excluded from these rites, boys became "weaned" of their mothers and began to develop a keen sense of gender identity and the importance of secrecy as a male quality.25 Those few boys who rebelled against these rites of passage or took them less seriously than was deemed appropriate were usually reprimanded by elders and ridiculed by peers, and their behavior was soon modified. In the end, once boys were divided into age-sets and brought together as a unit, they:

18

Dismantling Black Manhood learned to stand up for their rights and to strive for excellence; they learned to wrestle while their elders criticized and praised them; they learned to divide meat according to ritual standards. When they encountered equivalent groups from other villages, they learned how to fight together as a unit.26

Those boys who showed themselves particularly brave received praise and admiration from male elders, although they were warned against a prideful nature. The Ashanti of Ghana told male initiates: "If youthful pride were wealth, then every man would have had it in his life time."27 They also told boys that "If two selfish young men sit next to a pot of water, the water spills out on the ground," and "A man who moves about alone is met on the road and seized as a slave."28 These and other proverbs taught young males to value good character and unity. This oral literature also imparted wisdom to boys as they sought to emulate their male mentors. The initiation process was considered "a crucial [step in a boy's] transition from childhood to manhood."29 The male values of strength, bravery, aggression, and discipline were gifts of these rites, and boys were expected to accept them, for they were being prepared to stand within the warrior tradition of their fathers. As is now apparent, the oral literature of traditional West African communities served to reinforce those principles boys learned in initiation ceremonies and led them to think and act more like their elders. Ashanti adults told children: "A young person and a monkey suit one another," and, "Man makes his fellow man prosper."30 Hausa boys were reminded: "Even though you may be taller than your father you still are not his equal."31 The importance of sons being obedient to their fathers and the extent to which fathers should love their sons were reiterated in tales such as "The Son of the Hunter"32 (Hausa) and "The Funeral of the Hyena's Mother" (Yoruba).33 In their pre-colonial context, these stories were more than forms of childhood entertainment, for they taught youth communal ideas, ideals, values, beliefs, and taboos. As boys were being initiated, these folkloric expressions served as behavioral correctives and as verbal forms of discipline. At times, adults posed riddles to children, urging them to think for themselves and to utilize those elements of wisdom gathered bothfromtheir elders and from their own limited experiences as they sought to solve the verbal dilemma. In the end, oral literature did verbally what adult male initiators sought to do through ritual exercises.

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It is important to mention that boys did not dread the initiation process although it may have been difficult to bear at times. Quite the opposite, boys anxiously awaited these rites, apparently valuing the end over the means. But more importantly, boys sought nothing more earnestly than the applause of their fathers, which they receivedfreelyif their performance in boyhood rites was meritorious. Consequently, initiation ceremonies were times of great excitement for most boys as they moved closer to being their father's ultimate joy and, in the process, closer to manhood.

Physical Prowess During and after the third initiation, great value was placed on "training boys in aggression and physical endurance in the warrior tradition of former times."34 As a result, between ages 13 and 18, boys sought earnestly to display their physical prowess. Virility was a quality teenage males were expected to exemplify in order to receive the respect and admiration not only of male initiators but of all community members. Most West African societies believed, like the Ashanti, "If you are strong, you carry a great value."35 A male's prowess convinced observers that he would soon be able to protect and provide for a family. And, in most instances, he did not marry until the community was satisfied that he could do so. Physical strength was most often displayed through wrestling matches. These physical contests were not merely skirmishes between teenage males for sport. Quite the contrary, wrestling competitions were important social events and drew audiencesfrommiles around. Male competitors trained with fathers and other close relatives far in advance in hopes of "throwing" their opponents and, thus, being deemed an asset to family and community. Perhaps because wrestling in traditional West Africa was both competitive and combative, it was "developed to an extent which makes it comparable with the Olympic games."36 In fact,fromthe time boys were very young, they received instruction in wrestling, and some were not circumcised until they had challenged and defeated a champion, thereby proving their extraordinary valor.57 The village of a young man who became a champion wrestler received praise and glory. Geoffrey Gorer, who travelled West Africa in the 1930s, reports that even then "the title of champion wrestler was very highly

20

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esteemed, and the holder of it brought great glory to his village."38 In describing the actual fight, Gorer writes that, as in pre-colonial days: Thefighterscrouch opposite one another and rub their hands in the dust to get a good grip and start clawing at one another, with movements that are somewhat feline and animal, and yet so stylised as to resemble dancing.39 This awe-provoking demeanor was more than simply an attempt to impress viewers. Indeed, young wrestlers wanted the community to recognize the skill and mental strategies they had mastered while subject to more seasoned, revered men. Such mastery evidenced the trainee's obedience to elders, a quality celebrated in all African youth. Most importantly, wrestlers were attempting to demonstrate their physical strength with ease and confidence, soliciting yet greater praise if they prevailed. Wrestling was a sport found among most ethnic groups in traditional West Africa. Indeed, according to Baker and Morgan in Sport in Africa, "from ancient Egypt to the Canary Islands, wrestling was a [major] sport."40 And it was a serious one as well. So important was it to win that accounts speak of competitors having used hidden weapons to assure their victory although such behavior was not common.41 Wrestlers also paid homage to the ancestors before a bout in hopes that they might assist one's attempt. As seen in the following passage, boys were pressured to win in order to prove themselves potential men: [The wrestlers'] aim was to hurt the opponent, with or without the dangerous wrestling bracelet. Wrestling was a test of manhood and thus a means of courting. Therefore religious and magic support was indispensable. Delays of matches and refusals to fight were not uncommon...To impress a specially desired woman from the opposite village supplemented a champion's prestige. Thus both the young, potential marriage partners, and the old people arranging marriage alliances between the villages had a stake in these matches.42 So most boys wrestled fiercely. Those who did not—including the few who refused to wrestle at all—were virtually ostracized by their peers and looked

Manhood in Pre-colonial West Africa

21

upon with great contempt by the community. The following full-length description, given in 1958, of a Guinea-Bissau/Gambia wrestling match evidences the importance of the wrestling tradition in West Africa: Wrestlers were mostly boys between 16 and 20. They entered the ring according to age, the youngest first. Champions were designated representatives of their kinship or local groups. They did not compete as individuals. Before an intervillage match took place, these groups carefully prepared their champion: he was fed liberally while confined to his hut for several days. During that time he was expected to abstain from sexual intercourse. When the day arrived, the whole village approached his flower-decorated hut, and sang songs of encouragement. Next people enlarged the door using a farmer's hoe to demonstrate how much their favorite had gained in weight during seclusion. Then they led him to a large open space, where a bunch of fibres, fastened to a high pole, advertised the match to strangers. Drums had sounded from early morning; girls had dressed up; a lot of food had been prepared; elders had sacrificed to their local spirits to guarantee good luck. When the champion arrived within the ring of spectators, trumpets were sounded. The wrestlers started in a bent position, one knee on the ground, trying to catch hold of each other's hands. Suddenly one of them would jump up and push his head, chest or waist against the other's body, try to grab his leg, lift him up and throw him to the ground. There were many different holds all aimed at putting the opponent flat on his back and thus scoring a point. After each bout the elders, who functioned as judges, pronounced the outcome. A special announcer sounded his trumpet once for each score. The drums were moved into the center, and the victor's kinsmen dancedfrenetically,young girls dried the fighter's body, shook his hand and knelt before him in encouragement for the next bout.

22

Dismantling Black Manhood On return from the arena, the victor was carried through out the village, accompanied by war-shouts and derisive songs addressed to the loser's party. The crowd stopped at the hut of the wrestler's betrothed who handed him a symbol of victory. The couple could only marry after the man had been decisively defeated in a match. In order to gain a credit for their kin-group, wrestlers sometimes even took to "doping." They swallowed stimulants both before and during a match, used magic devices, and called on their protecting spirit for supernatural support. Credit was also given for an exhibition of fairness. Beating and tearing clothes during a match was forbidden. There had to be no ill-will, neither between individuals nor contending groups.43

Wrestling was so central to the acquisition of manhood in traditional West Africa that the demonstration of one's virility through this sport is spoken of in the people's lore. An Ibo folktale entitled "The Origin of Man's Furrow-behind" says: Once upon a time, human beings and spirits were neighbours and had many things in common. One of the bonds holding them together was the annual wrestling contest held in the land of the spirits. This particular annual event was much anticipated by all concerned because each community fielded its best wrestlers. The human society sent six stout men...with Akpi as their leader. The special feature of this contest was that any contestant whose back touched the ground died instantly. Akpi was the one to open the competition; his opponent was a three-headed but one-legged spirit. The wrestlers appeared to be evenly matched... Akpi killed the leader of the spirits and defeated the rest of them, but all his companions were killed. Akpi stole a magic horn from the spirits, restored his men to life, and they fled.

Manhood in Pre-colonial West Africa

23

Akpi was on the verge of crossing the boundary between the land of the spirit and human beings when the spirit caught up with him and scratched his back with his claws. This accounts for man's furrow-behind or the hollow at his back.44 In addition to confirming a male's physical strength, wrestling "established internal rank order, male leadership roles, and friendship bonds as well as social solidarity within [a] village."45 This is central to note because, at least theoretically, a male's goal was never to prove his physical might at the expense of his brother's well-being. Certainly males desired others to know the extent of their physical prowess; yet historical accounts confirm that wrestling competitions never deteriorated to the point that men sought one another's complete destruction. Actually, wrestling assisted a young male's rite of passage into the fraternal order or brotherhood of the community. Therefore, male wrestlers sought to treat each other fairly in hopes of being embraced by the male community and welcomed into its fraternal order. Rather than being enemies, young wrestlers were competitors whose display of virility was one of the major steps toward acquiring manhood in traditional West Africa. A second avenue through which males demonstrated physical strength was warriorhood. In most traditional West African societies, boys were trained in the tactics of warfare in order to be able to protect their families and communities from enemy invasion. Research suggests that these confrontations did not occur often in pre-colonial time; yet when military strength was needed, trained warriors stood ready to meet the need. From the days of their youth, boys heard stories, such as "Oni and the Great Bird"46 (Yoruba), which celebrated the courage and fortitude of fearless warriors, indirectly priming boys to assume the role. And as with wrestling, fathers and other elders taught teenage males the skills and strategies of warfare. Boys were given spears and other weapons and were trained to use them with remarkable precision.47 In some villages, boys were required to demonstrate their mastery of war tactics in a mock battle. Although the details of these "wars" were not given, it can be assumed that a boy's virility was under observation, as he had to either capture his enemy, "kill" him, or keep from being captured himself.48 Any of the three earned him applause, especially from his father, as the latter was then convinced that his son was both wise and brave.

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Dismantling Black Manhood

Once boys mastered the art of war, they were introduced into "the general activities and etiquette of the warrior class."49 This took place via ritual induction where inductees often recited warriors' resolutions much like the following: We brandish our spears, which is the symbol of our courageous and fighting spirit, never to retreat or abandon our hope, or run awayfromour comrades. If ever we shall make a decision, nothing will change us; and even if the heaven should hold over us a threat to fall and crush us, we shall take our spears and prop it. And if there seems to be a unity between the heaven and the earth to destroy us, we shall sink the bottom part of our spear on the earth, preventing them from uniting; thus keeping the two entities, the earth and the sky, though together, apart. Our faith and our decision never changing shall act as balance.50 We see again that boys did not compete so much against as with one another as they attempted to convince others that they were fit to be embraced as men. In fact, it appears as though a boy became a man only after he understood that he was, in fact, his brothers' keeper. To abuse a comrade in the demonstration of one's physical abilities was never sanctioned, for the ultimate purpose of physical strength was the protection—not destruction—of one's people. In the essay entitled "The Warrior Tradition and the Masculinity of War," Ali Mazrui notes that traditional West African communities boasted proudly, "Our sons are our warriors."53 Young boys were celebrated for the valor, courage, and maturity they exhibited as potential soldiers, and those who fell short of the standard were deemed cowardly and treated accordingly. Because warrior activity was central to traditional West African manhood, Mazrui refers to pre-colonial West African communities as "cultures of the spear." This is not evidence of male-centered violent activity, but of the reality that "a man [tested] his manliness within a spear-throw of another."52 Mazrui further asserts that not only was there a direct correlation between the status of a warrior and manhood, but that, often, a man's participation in battle (the "real" demonstration of one's virility) was confirmation that his boyhood had been replaced by manhood:

Manhood in Pre-colonial West Africa

25

When a boy passes into the grade of manhood his domestic duties and privileges are radically altered. From being everybody's servant and an inferior, he becomes an independent adult. This change of status is epitomized in the taboo on milking through which he becomes separated from women, with whom he was identified as a boy—a taboo which begins at his initiation and remains in effect throughout his life. At initiation the youth receives a spear from his father or uncle and becomes a warrior. He becomes a true "man" when he has fought in war (battle) and has not run away, has duelled with his age mate, has cultivated his garden and has married.53 Warriorhood assured that, among other things, a male was both strong and brave and that he was capable of upholding the community's established "manhood creed." To be sure, "war put manliness to test by questioning the individual's physique, courage, and ability to secure victory from the enemy. The more manly, the more warriorlike."54 In some places, males were made to endure the pain of circumcision as test of their endurance as a warrior and, consequently, a man.55 In the late 1400s, Aluife de Cada Mofto noted that "warriors are extremely bold and fierce, choosing rather to be killed than to save their lives by flight. They are not afraid to die, nor scared as other people are, when they see a companion slain."56 Only physically disabled males were excused from societal standards of warriorhood. Those who simply missed the mark brought dishonor to their family's name. Achebe's Things Fall Apart, a novel set in traditional West Africa, illustrates this reality best. Okonkwo, the protagonist, is a proud, virile man who is committed to molding his sons into the image of himself. So when he learns of his eldest son's soft manner and sensitive behavior—characteristics antithetical to warrior traits~he beats him mercilessly, hoping to "drive" him into manhood so that his household will not become known as the place where effeminate men reside. His efforts fail, however, and Okonkwo dismisses Nwoye from his lineage because the he is unable, or, from Okonkwo's perspective, unwilling to match his father's physical achievements. This account demonstrates that, in traditional West Africa, a male's role as a warrior afforded him the opportunity to display his virility and his tough, masculine nature. After having done so, he enjoyed all the

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Dismantling Black Manhood

rights, privileges, and responsibilities of other recognized men in the community. While exploring the West African warrior tradition, I would be amiss not to mention the legendary Sundiata. He was the great Mandingo warrior, circa 1240, who defeated thefierceSumanguru, king of Sosso. Sundiata was such a valiant warrior that he conquered the entire lands of Susu and "united the twelve kingdoms of Mali into one of the most powerful empires ever known in Africa, which at its peak stretched right across the savanna belt from the shores of the Atlantic to the dusty walls of Timbuktu."57 Consequently, he was celebrated by his kinsmen as the ultimate example of a man. In fact, the griot who retells his story proclaims that no man's might shall ever equal Sundiata's, and further declares, "Men of today, how small you are beside your ancestors."58 Warriorhood was so esteemed in traditional West African societies that many believed, like Sundiata, that "the ideal king was the great warrior, larger than life."59 And certainly Sundiata's legendary status as a warrior made him the ideal king. His achievements were transmitted through generations and used as the standard to evaluate the extent of young warriors' physical abilities. In some West African societies, young males never experienced war or even the threat of war. This does not mean, however, that in those communities warriors were not revered. Research shows that status as a warrior was not always a result of participation in battle, but that, in some instances, this honor was bestowed upon a male whose demonstrated virility afforded him such respect. In other words, "one became a warrior when one was presumed to be capable of protecting cattle, or defending land or collectivelyfightingto protect the clan."60 So one's self reliance, one's proven independence, was an integral component of one's warriorhood. Thus, warriorhood reflected a male's maturity as well as his resourcefulness. Incidentally, although the traditional West African warrior may appear somewhat glorified, one should note that the means of acquiring this state were certainly less than glorious. Males proved, quite painstakingly, their physical endurance, not for vain admiration, but in order to be heralded as young men worthy, one day, to stand alongside their fathers. Significant to the African male warrior tradition, war dances functioned to confirm a male's physical strength. Accounts tell of young men participating in dance rituals as measure of their ability to withstand the vicissitudes of war. The physical stamina demanded by the dance

Manhood in Pre-colonial West Africa

27

demonstrated a male's vitality. For example, a Lele boy had to prove his manhood by killing a manslaying beast, and, upon returning to the village, he was expected to "make a triumphal dance around the village to the beat of the special ukoko drum."61 The physicality and endurance involved in African dance made it a great indicator of one's physical potential. At ritual ceremonies, potential warriors were expected to dance with all the energy and power they could muster and to maintain such vitality until the ritual ended. Even in South Africa, regiments of Shaka's troops competed with each other in their dancing, "which was regarded as the means by which mind and muscles were kept exercised."62 Shaka's success was often attributed to his warriors' swift movements and physical endurance facilitated via the pre-battle dance rituals. Dance was simply one of many modes through which warriors proved their physical abilities. Like great wrestlers, famed warriors brought immeasurable honor and prestige to their communities. To capture one's war enemies and take them back to one's home community resulted in untempered praise of the warrior-captor who, in turn, often kept the captives as slaves.63 Furthermore, to return from battle with the enemy's head brought great honor to the warrior and caused him to be seen as a male of tremendous valor. It is not surprising, therefore, that males trained for years to be fierce warriors. They mastered "...markmanship, camouflage and other aspects of tactics. With guns and other weapons, such as the Bow and the Sword, the Buldgeon of wood, and the Wristdagger, warriors went forth to protect their people and their family name."64 A father who could boast of sons who were accomplished warriors was seen as a great man by his peers and was deemed capable of rearing extraordinary men. Folktales which illumine the virility and bravery of warriors abound in West African oral literature, inspiring young men to meet their foe unafraid. It appears that, although wrestling and warriorhood were the most popular modes through which males displayed their physical prowess, other modes were probably used as well. For example, those West African communities found near large bodies of water or located on the coast might have employed swimming as a viable mode to deteraiine a boy's physical capabilities. This is believable primarily because historical accounts of West African coastal communities speak of the extent to which boys mastered the art of swimming. Various explorers of the West African coast were actually amazed at West African boys' abilities to maneuver themselves in water, and

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Dismantling Black Manhood

one explorer states, "[T]hese Negroes are the greatest swimmers in the World, by the experiments the author had seen of them in these parts. "65 This traveler's awe was shared by others. Alexander Falconbridge's 1788 diary records that West African men were "extremely athletic and muscular and very expert in the water and could swim for many miles."66 He recalls a game he used to play with male swimmers while his vessel rested on the coast. He would throw small, metal pieces far into the water and challenge any young male to retrieve it. Says he, "1 have often thrown pieces of iron and tobacco pipes overboard, which they never failed bringing up in their hand."67 So swimming could easily have been a sport whereby males demonstrated their physical capabilities, although evidence is not sufficient for a definitive conclusion. In wooded areas, hunting was often the means by which a boy proved his prowess, his manliness. The oral tradition of the Yoruba, for instance, is replete with stories about young men and hunting expeditions. The plot of these tales is often the same: the male protagonist is sent away by his father or a king and required to return with the head (or some body part) of a ferocious creature feared by all. If he accomplishes this task, he wears the crown of virility the remainder of his days. If he returns unsuccessful, however, he is deemed a coward. In real life, boys were not hunting monsters, of course, but the killing of any wild animal could have seemed a monstrous assignment to a young teenage male. Therefore, stories such as "Whatever Happened to Our Tail?"68 and "The Hunter and His Magic Flute"69 were told to boys as mental preparation for their undertaking. It does not appear, however, that hunting was as popular a mode of testing boys' strength as, say, wrestling, probably because of the element of danger involved. Boys were revered in most West African societies, and to risk losing them at the claws of a wild beast would not have been prudent. Nonetheless, oral lore suggests that some few boys endured this challenge, and, with proper preparation, returned from the woods unharmed.

Husbandhood Once teenage males demonstrated their virility, the next step toward the acquisition of manhood in traditional West Africa was husbandhood. All young males were expected to marry and, to date, no source reports of any male having chosen to abandon this societal expectation. Ruth Finnegan,

Manhood in Pre-colonial West Africa

29

author of Limba Stories and Story-telling, postulates that "For a young man, the marriage to his first wife marked a major step forward in his social and economic status within the village, comparable in importance only to his [earlier] initiations into manhood."70 Yet, unlike today, the young pre-colonial West African male did not simply marry the female of his choice at his own appointed time. Rather, in most communities, the male voiced interest in a particular female, then his father and the young lady's father discussed nuptial concerns. The potential husband would never have attempted to enter these negotiations alone for, in actuality, his father was the more important of the two when discussing marital arrangements. In most places, until a son married, his father still functioned as his head.71 He could make no major decisions without paternal consultation or sanction. So the groom-to-be was seen by the future father-in-law as a boy who should feel privileged to sit in the presence of adults as they decide his fate. More than anything, the female's father wanted assurance that his daughter would be provided for and treated well. Therefore, to prove his economic resourcefulness and moral character, a male sometimes "helped his father-in-law for several years in working his fields and had in addition continuously to make presents to the girl and her people."72 But more than gifts, males had to offer an acceptable indemnity or bride price to future in-laws, which historian John Hope Franklin defines as "...a compensation for taking away a member of [another] family."73 This material presentation also functioned as "a form of insurance for the good treatment of the daughter."74 If the young lady reported abuse, a divorce of sorts might occur wherein she would return to her native village and the ex-husband would receive unimaginable communal scorn. Whether or not his indemnity was returned depended upon the severity of the crime. Yet whether it was or not, it was clear that the male had "no rights to any of the children of the marriage, even if he may have begotten as many as seven."75 Nevertheless, once an agreement was reached between the two fathers, and the ceremony had taken place, the new husband was expected to rule his wife and to be the head of his household. He knew that all expected his word to be law and, consequently, "his authority [usually] went unquestioned by West African women."76 In fact, wives were expected to treat their husbands with great honor and reverence. Some women walked behind their husbands in public and served them the kitchen's best foods. This behavior reflected the husband's sovereignty in his household. Lf at any point a wife attempted

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Dismantling Black Manhood

to usurp her husband's authority, he was expected by the community to "correct" her, thereby restoring "the natural order of things.''77 This chastisement was rarely physical, however, because the wife would surely have reported the abuse to her family, and, although they might have agreed that she was out of order, the husband would have been reprimanded for his actions. Nonetheless, it was within the husband's bounds to dictate his wife's public and private character. She was never to disagree with him publicly nor was she to refuse any of his requests. One observer wrote in the early 18th century that: [West African communities] keep their women very much under and will never allow them to eate [sic] at one table with their husbands; all the time he's eating shee [sic] stands by with water to serve him and so upon all occasions she waits like a servant upon her husband at home and abroad.78 This is not to suggest that husbands manipulated wives much like one would a robot, but to illustrate that the husband was the head of the household, as defined by pre-colonial West Africans, and wives usually allowed husbands such authority. We should not infer from this that pre-colonial West African husbands mistreated or disrespected their wives; on the contrary, from the early days of initiation, boys were taught to honor and respect women. In fact, "[I]t was assumed on the one hand that one of the most important things for any man to win was a wife and that without her he could not achieve his aims of wealth and honor."79 Certainly this passage implies that wives were desired primarily because of what they could do for husbands; and husbands may have been desired for what they could do for wives. However, this contemporary, Western evaluation of traditional West African attitudes might lead to an inaccurate, non-contextualized assessment of West African beliefs, ideas, and customs. So the determination of the "correctness" of things pertaining to traditional West African life shall be left to those who lived during that moment. Nevertheless, the idea here is that men sought earnestly to teach boys respect for their wives. Young husbands were told, "Courage is shown on the battlefield, not in the house," and, "A good wife is more precious than gold."80 When a husband mistreated his wife, the wife's brothers took him away from the village and beat him severely in order that

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31

he might know (experientially) the injustice he inflicted upon his spouse. So the taboo against spousal abuse was more than mere rhetoric. Fortunately, it seems that such incidents were not regular occurrences. Tales such as "The Boy Who Got a Wife From a Bird"81 no doubt convinced boys that wives were indispensable and, consequently, should be cherished. Even so, husbands still knew that they were the heads of their households. In most instances, their position as head was made easier by the fact that "the wife was not considered a member of her husband's family. After marriage she continued to be a part of her own family."82 The wife often possessed no rights to anything her husband owned. And although she was expected to submit her will to his, all understood that her real loyalty belonged to her parents. On the other hand, while within the domain of her husband's household, she knew that he expected her verbal and actual support. If a husband could not boast as much, he was deemed "weak" and unable to control his wife and became the source of much male-centered humor.83 For him, the laughter functioned as ridicule, for he was publicly scorned as a male all perceived assailable. A husband who could not control his own wife was never honored as a man among those who questioned his ability to rule his own compound. Along with being the head of the family, the husband was also the provider. As I stated above, a male married only after parents were convinced of his ability to feed and protect his wife. His job was to supply food, clothing, and shelter for her and however many children she bore. "Noble Tiller of the Soil" was a title husbands received if they grew tremendous,fruitfulcrops.84 They spent the majority of their time cultivating millet, rice, cassava, cotton, and other small crops and were known as some of Africa's best herdsmen. Husbands also hunted and fished to provide food for their families. Those men whose wives or children spoke of hunger were thought of as being worse than infidels and were treated with utter disdain. So important was it to provide for one's family adequately that, on occasions, a husband would help his wife with female-centered activities which yielded an economic contribution to the family. This did not happen often, however, for fear that "a man might be laughed at and suspected of being under his wife's thumb."85 Yet it is a misconception to think that African women were simply "kept" by African men. Quite the contrary, wives spent their days cooking, weaving baskets, molding pottery, tending to children, and working

Dismantling Black Manhood

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alongside their husbands in the fields,86 Even when pregnant, wives were expected to fulfill their traditional roles. They did not simply wallow in luxury as husbands exploited every known means to support their leisure. In fact, wives' duties often called for more perseverance and strength than did husbands' chores, as evidenced by the following passage written by an eyewitness observer: The women in Africa commonly undergoes [sic] the hardest of the labour, making plantations and beating out the rice (for they have no mills as in other places) the same time the men are smoking their [sic] pipes, or dancing at home in their houses, or drinking palm wine under some shade in the bushes.87 Women performed activities which called for daily attention, "whereas men worked for shorter periods of time and could always separate [chores] by intervals of rest."88 Nonetheless, to provide for a family was thought to be the husband's responsibility. Besides food, husbands were to provide the wood-work and the strength necessary to build living quarters, they were to clear wooded areas to be used as farmland, and they were expected to keep their homes in decent external condition. Further, husbands were to provide their wives with a sense of security. Reports tell of wives walking behind their husbands in public and such behavior being interpreted as the wives' assurance that their husbands could protect them. In most communities, only men carried firearms, a reality which reminded women that men stood as the protectors of both the family and the community.89 In short, husbands were expected to rule wives and to provide for them, including all that these stipulations entailed.

Fatherhood Thefinalconduit through which West African males acquired the status of manhood was fatherhood. In pre-colonial days, the West African male was expected to reproduce large numbers of children in an attempt to, among other things, "perpetuate the family name," thereby strengthening his familial lineage.90 Children were seen as gifts from God; therefore, the more children a man had, the more blessed he was. For a West African father to sire some

Manhood in Pre-colonial West Africa

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20 or 30 children was no major feat. One sociologist notes that "children were so important that husbands were allowed to marry a number of wives to guard against being childless."91 The implication here is that polygamy is a direct result of the male desire for large numbers of children. Whether or not this is so, 1 cannot determine. However, if a wife was found barren, she was sometimes dismissed from her husband's household and returned to her own family. And, as one might surmise, birth control was not publicly endorsed among traditional West Africans, for, to them, planning children would have been "antithetical to the notion that children are a gift from God."92 Consequently, children composed more than 65% of most village populations and brought great pride to fathers who could boast having conceived many of them. Once a father had an abundance of children, he was expected to administer discipline and to perpetuate his culture through them, especially the boys. Franklin notes that the discipline with which fathers reared children "...was responsible in large measure for the stability that has been observed in various aspects of traditional West African life."93 Fathers were expected to teach their sons (daughters spent most of their time with mothers) how to take care of themselves via farming techniques, fishing skills, and hunting tips. In fact, "by the time a boy reached the age of puberty he had, as a rule, gained a very good knowledge of veld craft."94 Actually, it would have been difficult for him not to have, for sons feared their fathers' wrath and rightfully so. Fathers administered discipline so severely that, at times, boys were left temporarily immobile. Such force was usually unnecessary, though, because sons knew the consequences of disobedience. The tale entitled "How It Came About That Children Were First Whipped" (Ashanti) provides clear insight into the societal value placed on the "correct" rearing of children.95 In Ghana, sons were told, "When you walk behind your father, you learn to walk like him." And the goal of fathers was to have sons who walked like their elders, for fathers understood that "the strength of the palm tree (father) is in its branches (sons)."96 Ironically, this same proverb no doubt reminded fathers not to be too hard on children, as "they are the ones who will soon carry you." Oral traditions suggest that, in fact, fathers loved their sons deeply. In practically every West African ethnic group studied, stories were found which celebrate strong, loving father-son relationships. One such narrative, "Naming the New Chief,"97 tells the story of a boy who is lost in the forest and unable to

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find his father. The father searches for his son for years, and by the time he finds him, the boy has been adopted by a king who has made him a royal prince. The father is distressed that his son now belongs to another man. However, upon learning of the boy's past, the king releases him to be reunited with his father. The two embrace one another with a love unmistakably genuine. Similar tales are found in oral traditions throughout West Africa, suggesting strongly that fathers loved sons even though they reared them with a heavy hand. Equally significant, fathers were to steep their children in the history of their people. Numerous tales, legends, and songs that served to keep children aware of their heritage were transmitted orally. Fathers used drums, guitars, harps, and xylophones to enhance their role as perpetuators of the culture. Usually, communities had a kind of resident bard or griot who functioned as the communal record keeper. Still, fathers took it upon themselves to tell children stories which reinforced their self-worth and taught them of their great ancestors. Mothers also shared the responsibility of assuring that children understood the strength of the shoulders upon which they stood. Because fathers were often biased towards male children, they spent disproportionate amounts of time telling their sons tales of legendary men in hopes that boys would someday emulate them. Because religion played a key role in traditional West African culture, the father was also a religious leader. He understood the importance of children knowing the faith of their foreparents and knew that it would have been blasphemous for them not to know, for children were thought to "maintain the link between the ancestors and the living."98 Consequently, they were taught their family lineage and were instructed to revere their elders and the spirits of the gods. The level of respect with which children were taught to honor the spirits of their ancestors has led many to label this practice "ancestor worship." However, youth did not worship their forebears as one worships the omniscient God, for they, too, recognized one Supreme Being as the Almighty One. Rather, they honored the spirits of foreparents and reverenced all that they meant and contributed to one's existence. In summary, a father's role in pre-colonial West Africa included having many children, rearing them with a strong sense of discipline, teaching them the culture of their people, and insisting that they love, honor, and respect their elders, an essential aspect of West African religious beliefs.

Manhood in Pre-colonial West Africa

35

As 1 have mentioned, it was also the father's responsibility to accompany sons through male rites of passage. The goal of these ritual activities was "to turn [sons] into men."99 The ceremonies often took place outside village limits and boys were never to discuss their experiences with others. Most often, ceremonies were spiritual in nature, and "through connection with the spirit, boys had intercourse with the supernatural world and hence with a special source of power which carried the stamp of validity."100 Fathers were usually on hand to assist their sons' transformation from boyhood into manhood. During the initiation exercises, fathers on behalf of their sons, prayed formal prayers like the following: These children, whom we are pulling from Poro today, let nothing harm them; let them not fall from palm trees; make their bodies strong; give them wisdom to look after their children; let them hold themselves in a good way; let them show themselves to be men.101 Then fathers told sons, You are just small boys and still sleep near your mothers. Now we will take you to sleep with us in the men's house. Now that this is done, you can't go back to stay with your mothers. If you stay with your mothers you will not grow quickly. If you stay there you will be like the little ones that still suckle. You won't become grown. You must come into the men's house, you must hear what your fathers have to say, you must grow rapidly, and you must become married.102 These activities helped fathers teach sons what was expected of them as men of the community. The ceremonies also assured fathers that their way of life would be perpetuated for years to come, as sons used their fathers as examples of manhood. Unlike today, it does not appear that pre-colonial West African fathers ever abandoned their children or their commitment to them, even in hard times or adverse social conditions. Quite the contrary, they understood the rearing of children to be the greatest of responsibilities, believing, as the Ashanti say, "Absence does not raise a child."103 Such proverbs confirm that husbands who sired children stood ready and able to

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take care of them. And the father whose household was rilled with obedient, healthy youth was esteemed a man of great wisdom and commitment. Finally, although rites of passage, physical prowess, husbandhood, and fatherhood were the major communal avenues through which manhood was acquired in pre-colonial West Africa, it does not appear that manhood was ever publicly declared. Rather, the title of "man" was automatically bestowed upon a male once he reproduced and, consequently, assumed the same responsibilities as other men of his village. Once a male became a man, his character—as well as his performance—was the avenue whereby others critiqued his manliness. For example, countless proverbs stood as proscriptions against pride, arrogance, and egotism. For example, one said, "However rich a man is, it is not right to plunder his things with big pans. "104 In other words, acquiring the status of manhood did not free a man to do or behave as he pleased. In fact, a man's conduct was constantly under scrutiny by others, and if his ego ever became unbearable, folkloric accounts suggest that community members corrected him without reservation. Along the same vein, it appears that the basis of adult male leadership was more "the art of oratory and argument"105 than was physical achievement. A man's ability to manipulate spoken discourse so that others were persuaded to follow him or to at least rethink a position was celebrated in many West African villages. The numerous tales of Ansi, the trickster spider, confirm this cultural reality, and the "Bad Nigga" tales of the African American experience still stand as evidence that he who masters the art of verbal exchange is awarded the prize of manhood.106 Because traditional West African communities had very rigid perceptions of males and manhood, most men probably had very secure self-perceptions and very positive self-images. Therefore, when the European arrived with his agenda to enslave, the West African male endured a blow inconceivable to others. Such will be the focus of chapter three.

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Notes 1. For a flill-length discussion on the sociocultural construction of gender, see Sherry B. Ortner and Harriet Whitehead's Sexual Meaning: The Cultural Construction of Gender and Sexuality (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1981). 2. J. G. Christaller and Kofi Ron Lange, Three Thousand Six Hundred Ghanian Proverbs (Lewiston, New York: Edwin Mellen Press, 1990), 38. 3. Simon Ottenberg, Boyhood Rituals in an African Society (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 1989), 12. 4. In Women of Value, Men of Renown, Annette B. Weiner offers insightful commentary concerning the relationship between fathers and sons as it pertains to the growing of tremendous yam crops. Her analysis of how the economic affects the social is critical reading for those interested in the details of West African father-sons relationships. 5. Simon Ottenberg, Boyhood Rituals, 139. 6. Ibid., 7. 7. Gilbert H. Herdt (ed.), Rituals of Manhood: Male Initiation in Papua New Guinea (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1982), 101. 8. Basil Davidson, A History of West Africa 1000-1800 (London: Longmans, 1965), 250. 9. Part four of Christine Oppong's (ed.) Female and Male in West Africa explores male bias in various West African communities and the subsequent effect of this reality on social and economic institutions. 10. Richard Henderson, The King in Every Man (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1972), 353. 11. Ottenberg, Boyhood Rituals, 59. 12. Charles K. Meek, Tribal Studies in Northern Nigeria (London: Kegan Paul, Treech, Trubner and Company, LTD, 1931), 451. 13. Pieter de Marees, Description and Historical Account of the Gold Kingdom of Guinea (1602) (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1987), 26-29. 14. Meek, Tribal Studies, 453. 15. F. W. Butt-Thompson, West African Secret Societies (New York: Argosy-Antiquarian LTD., 1929), 123. 16. Ibid., 125. 17. Meek, Tribal Studies, 453.

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18. Ibid. 19. Ibid., 455. 20. Ibid., 451. 21. K. L. Little, "The Role of the Secret Society in Cultural Specialization" in Phoebe and Simon Ottenberg, Cultures and Societies of Africa (New York: Random House, 1960), 90. 22. Richard Henderson, The King In Every Man, 355. 23. Ottenberg, Boyhood Rituals, 76 & 77. 24. Meek, Tribal Studies, 454. 25. Ottenberg, Boyhood Rituals, 60. 26. Henderson, The King in Every Man, 354. 27. Christaller andLange, Ghanian Proverbs, 8. 28. Ibid., 8 & 39, respectively. 29. Ottenberg, Boyhood Rituals, 68. 30. Christaller and Lange, Ghanian Proverbs, 301 & 199, respectively. 31. Harold Courlander, A Treasury of African Folklore (New York: Crown Publishers, 1975), 117. 32. Ibid., 57. 33. Joanna Cole, Best-Loved Folktales of the World (New York: Doubleday, 1982), 642. 34. Ottenberg, Boyhood Rituals, 57. 35. Christaller and Lange, Ghanian Proverbs, 116. 36. Geoffrey Gorer, Africa Dances (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1935), 51. 37. Ibid. 38. Ibid. 39. Ibid., 56. 40. William J. Baker and James A. Morgan, Sport in Africa: Essays in Social History (New York: Africana Publishing Company, a division of Holmes and Meier, 1987), 23. 41. Ibid., 23. 42. Ibid., 29. 43. Sigrid Paul, "The Wrestling Tradition and Its Social Functions" in Sport in Africa, 24 & 25. 44. Ibid., 30. 45. Ibid, 29.

Manhood in Pre-colonial West Africa

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46. Joanna Cole, Best-Loved Folktales, 644. 47. The Voyage ofAluife da Cada Mofto, in 1455, Along the Coast of Africa as far as Rio Grande Written by Himself m Great Adventures and Explorations edited by Vilhjalmur Stefansson (New York: The Dial Press, 1947), 576 & 572. 48. Ah Mazrui, The Warrior Tradition in Modern Africa (Leiden: Brill, 1977), 36. 49. Ibid. 50. Ibid. 51. Ibid., 69. 52. Ibid., 80. 53. Ibid., 77. 54. Ibid., 152. 55. Ibid. 56. Stefansson, Great Adventures and Explorations, 582. 57. D* T. Niane, Sundiata: An Epic of Old Mali (Essex, England: Longman House, 1986), back cover. 58. Ibid., 84. 59. Mazrui, Warrior Tradition, 24. 60. Ibid., 57. 61. Ibid., 116. 62. Ibid., 117. 63. A. E. Afigbo, The Making of Modern Africa (Essex, England: Longman House, 1986), 101. 64. Ibid. 65. Steffansson, Great Adventures and Explorations, 583. 66. Alexander Falconbridge, An Account of the Slave Trade on the Coast of Africa 1788 (London: J. Phillips, George Yard, Lombard-street, reprinted AMS Press, Inc., New York, 1973), 53. 67. Ibid. 68. Kamlesh Mohindra, Folktales of West Africa (India: Sterling Publishers Private Limited, 1991), 23. 69. Joanna Cole, Best-Loved Folktales, 638. 70. Ruth Finnegan, Limba Stories and Story-telling (London: Oxford University Press, 1967), 15. 7 1 . Diane Kayongo-Male, The Sociology of the African Family

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(London: Longman, 1984), 7. 72. Diedrich Westermann, The African Today and Tomorrow (London: Oxford University Press, 1969), 53. 73. John Hope Franklin, From Slavery to Freedom (New York: A. A. Knopf, 1974), 13. 74. Westermann, The African, 53. 75. Harold K. Schneider, The Africans: An Ethnological Account (Englewood Cliffs, New Jersey: Prentice-Hall, Inc., 1981), 92. 76. Diane Kayongo-Male, African Family, 7. 77. Westermann, The African, 49. 78. Nicholas Owen, Journal of a Slave-Dealer: A View of Some Remarkable Axcedents in the Life of Nicholas Owen on the Coast of Africa and America from the Year 1746 to the Year 1757, edited and with an introduction by Eveline Martin (New York: Houghton and Mifflin Co., 1930), 52. 79. Ruth Finnegan, Limba Stories, 17. 80. Christaller and Lange, Ghanian Proverbs, 6 & 299 respectively. 81. Ruth Finnegan, Limba Stories, 168. 82. Franklin, From Slavery to Freedom, 15. 83. Westermann, The African, 48. 84. Franklin, From Slavery to Freedom, 15. 85. Westermann, The African, 47. 86. Franklin, From Slavery to Freedom, 17. 87. Nicholas Owen, Journal ofA Slave-Dealer, 52. 88. Westermann, The African, 47. 89. Ibid., 51. 90. Kayongo-Male, African Family, 17. 91. [bid., 51. 92. [bid., 64. 93. Franklin, From Slavery to Freedom, 26 94. Ottenberg, Cultures and Societies of Africa, 90. 95. Paul Radm, African Folktales and Sculpture (New York: Bollingen Foundation, 1952), 209. 96. Christaller and Lange, Ghanian Proverbs, 16 & 6 respectively. 97. Mohindra, Folktales of West Africa, 87. 98. Kayongo-Male, African Family, 87.

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99. Franklin, From Slavery to Freedom, 26. 100. K. L. Little, "The Role of the Secret Society," 201. 101. Ibid. 102. Herdt, Rituals of Manhood, 247. 103. Christaller and Lange, Ghanian Proverbs, 165. 104. Christaller and Lange, Ghanian Proverbs, 10. 105. Henderson, The King in Every Man, 360. 106. For a more in-depth discussion of the role of vernacular manipulation in the African American concept of manhood, see John Roberts' From Trickster to Badman.

Ill The Impact of the Long March and the Middle Passage on the West African Concept of Manhood The experience of enslavement altered the lives of African men to an extent few could ever imagine. Life on American plantations introduced men to realities—such as self-destruction—heretofore unknown and convinced many that manhood, as they understood it, was gone forever. Yet the disassociation of African men from their original context and its accompanying motifs—the root of their struggle for manhood in America—began long before they stepped foot on American soil. Indeed, prior to the arrival of the enslaved African male in the New World, he endured a tragic experience unlike anything he had ever known. It was a moment in which his personal autonomy was usurped, his dignity insulted, and his relationship to historical and personal context essentially severed. This transformative moment became known as the Middle Passage. It included the Long March, his journey from his home village to the slave vessels on the coast, as well as the three-to-eight-month journey across the seas to the New World. Yet this passage was more than simply a cruise from one country to another. The humiliation, dehumanization, and sociocultural displacement sustained on this voyage undoubtedly convinced men that their value equaled that of a mere brute and that they possessed no might or authority in the presence of the white captor. Fundamentally, the middle passage was: the slave's initiation into a systematic degradation designed to strip away his humanity and make him ready for the seller's block. With

43

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Dismantling Black Manhood its sadistic punishments, sexual abuse, and rampant disease, life on the slave ship (and the march to the ship) was a sudden and terrifying preview of what was to come.'

And what was to come was toil, heartache, deprivation, and an ensuing struggle with the idea of manhood the African American male has yet to overcome. To know fully the effects of the Long March and the Middle Passage on the West African concept of manhood, one must first recognize that to capture—physically—an African man was to disturb his idea of manhood, for central to the West African male sensibility was virility, that is, the ability to defend one's self. Olaudah Equiano reports that, prior to enslavement, West African males stood firmly within a warrior tradition and, consequently, revered the ability to protect themselves and their family.2 However, chains and fetters obliterated this right. To find oneself at the mercy of captors after having been placed in irons was surely an insult to African men and their perception of manhood. Venture Smith recalls that, when his father, a royal prince, was chained by slave captors, the father's rage almost overcame him.3 Bondage, of course, meant that men lost control over their own lives; yet it also meant that they could provide other family members no protection. The most they could do, it seems, was to voice their rage, although certainly to no avail. The warriors of the community became the "Muted Warriors." They still possessed the mental construct of a fighter, but fetters prevented them from performing as such. Actually, for all practical purposes, they were no more than helpless captives. As a male virtue then, virility began to fade slowly into the past as chains forced men, once honored for their physical strength, to relinquish as much without the privilege of retaliation. However, bondage alone apparently did not convince captors that African men truly understood and accepted white male for sovereignty, for coupled with the initial capture was unimaginable physical abuse. Numerous documents attest that maltreatment was widely employed by European enslavers as a means of "breaking" male captives long before they reached the coast and boarded slave ships. Such reports confirm that, throughout the jouraeyfromthe interior to the coast—which often lasted weeks as enslaved Africans walked hundred of miles-men were flogged, slapped, kicked and even spat upon.4 Venture Smith, author of A Narrative of the Life and

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Adventures of Venture, A Native of Africa (1798), writes that his father was so severely abused along the Long March that he died as a result of the torture. The fact that he was a king meant nothing to enslavers. Venture laments, "1 saw him while he was thus tortured to death. The shocking scene is to this day fresh in my mind, and 1 have often been overcome while thinking on it."5 Again, we speak here not simply of the maiming of men, but of warriors—those who spent their lives mastering the art of self defense. These were men for whom the ability to defend themselves was the basis of their self-perception, their self-worth. Therefore, to be hauled away from the land of their mothers without means of retaliation no doubt caused many to question both their communal and self worth. Moreover, the abuse they suffered introduced notions of perceived impotence and ignited a rage within African men which multiplied as they moved toward the coast. Stanley Elkins asserts that those captured were: driven like beasts tied together by their necks...Day after day, eight or more hours at a time, they would stagger barefoot over thorny underbrush, dried reeds, and stones. Hardship, thirst, brutalities, and near starvation penetrated the experience of each exhausted man and woman who reached the coast.6 Olaudah Equiano corroborates this report in his narrative entitled The Interesting Narrative of the Life of Olaudah Equiano or Gustavus Vassa, the African (1794). Says he, "...it [the Long March] discovered to me an element I had never before beheld, and till then had no idea of, wherein such instances of hardship and cruelty continually occurred, as I can never reflect on but with horror."7 He speaks of caged men being flogged daily for the most trivial of offenses or simply for the captor's humor. He also recalls that, at times, captors mistreated women and children in the presence of men in order that the latter might understand the extent of their powerlessness. The adverse effects of such humiliation on the African male psyche can never be fully realized. However, the impact certainly intensified once men realized that their enslavement was not ephemeral but, in fact, would serve to define their possibilities for the rest of their lives. Elkins postulates that the experience of enslavement and the subsequent realization of its permanency produced a series of "shocks" in African men which proved as

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detrimental to their sociopsychological well-being as any level of physical abuse endured. In essence, these shocks, defined as experiential moments along the Long March and the Middle Passage, "neutralized the system of values and pattern of culture from which the slave took his identity as an African."8 And African man's understanding of manhood no doubt was modified as captors destroyed their virility with chains and horrendous physical abuse. However, the victory won over West African male prowess was certainly a pyrrhic one, for men retaliated fiercely against their bondage and subsequent maltreatment. Nicholas Owen notes in his Journal of a Slave Dealer that, on one occasion, "[male] natives bound white slavers in ropes and irons because we had forcibly detain'd some of their free people and used them ill."9 Such accounts abound. In his travel log, An Account of The Slave Trade 1788, Alexander Falconbridge recalls that, initially, males were enslaved more frequently than were females, and, consequently, the possibility of mutiny was never allayed. Actually, mutinies occurred so frequently that the moment "the men negroes" arrived on the coast, they were "...brought aboard the ship, and immediately fastened together two by two, by handcuffs on their wrists and by irons rivetted on their legs."10 Some men resisted by attempting suicide, although they were usually "rescued" (against their will) by captors concerned solely with the loss of valuable commodity. Many slave vessels were equipped with accompanying nets which extended from the sides of boats, making it practically impossible for those enslaved to jump into the water once they boarded ships. So although many African men exploited every avenue conceivable to escape their bondage before ships set sail for the New World, most could do little more than submit to the captor's will. Unfortunately, the horror men encountered along the Long March merely foreshadowed that which they suffered on the seas. First, note that men remained shackled throughout the entire voyage. Even when brought above deck to breathe, men remained bound.11 Mannix and Cowley, co-authors of Black Cargoes, note that the popular activity of dancing the slaves12 "...was a useless torture for men with swollen limbs," as they were forced to dance in their shackles. They also observe that "while sailors paraded the deck, each with a cat-o'-nine-tails in his right hand, the men slaves "jumped in their irons until their ankles were bleeding flesh."13 Equiano recalls with terror the sight of chained men:

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[W]hen I looked around the ship and saw a large furnace of copper boiling, and a multitude of black {men} of every description chained together, everyone of their countenances expressing dejection and sorrow, I no longer doubted of my fate; and quite overpowered with horror and anguish, I fell motionless on the deck and fainted.14 This experience was understandably overwhelming for Equiano, as he was only ten years old at the time; yet the reality of physical bondage overwhelmed even the strongest of warriors (or, now, ex-warriors) who, according to the travel notes of Aluife da Cada Mofto (1455), were heretofore emotionally unmovable.15 To have remained in irons and fetters for weeks without release must have caused the West African male to question the viability of his manhood. In a very real sense, captors became seen as the ultimate authority while the helpless African male was forced into a subordinate position. Furthermore, to be shackled and laid alongside other men wounded the West African male ego, for then the stripping of his prowess became a public spectacle. This is significant, for the humiliation African men felt was certainly exacerbated as others witnessed their emasculation. The degradation men endured as women and children beheld their enslavement, torture, and on-going physical captivity can only be surmised, although it must have been great. Such ignominy, and the fact that during the Middle Passage men "...had not so much room as a man in his coffin either in length or breadth,"16 supports the probability that African men felt their manhood quickly waning or at least insufficient to sustain them. Moreover, the realization that they could not protect not only their wives and children, but also their brothers along the Middle Passage seems also to have affected their self-perceptions. Many accounts tell of men who appeared extremely depressed or enraged when captors finally disconnected themfromadjoining male corpses often dead for several days or even weeks.l7 In short, chains and irons robbed the African male of his virility and began the annihilation of his concept of manhood. Other realities experienced during the Middle Passage also disrupted the West African notion of manhood. For instance, that wives, mothers, sisters, and daughters suffered sexual abuse at the whim of white captors surely prompted men to question their manhood. Falconbridge speaks of African women who were sexually abused constantly and notes that the experience

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led many women to jump overboard.18 And what of the men who witnessed or were eventually made aware of this atrocity? Certainly they deemed it more than simply a daily misfortune. Equiano says that "the shrieks of the women [aboard slave ships] ...rendered the whole scene of horror almost inconceivable."19 In fact, even as a young boy, he prayed for death as he saw women treated like brutal sexual beasts. To recall that the protection of one's family and community was at the center of the West African concept of manhood helps to substantiate the claim that being unable to protect women from physical abuse or to avenge their suffering rendered one a dysfunctional husband, father, brother, or son, as far as men were concerned. That they were shackled while aboard ship and often physically ill, therefore unable to afford women any protection, offered them no solace. Indeed, these realities simply convinced African men the more of their impotence and the captor's omnipotence. The physical environment in which men found themselves during the Middle Passage might also have undermined their concept of manhood. John Newton observes: Their lodging rooms below the deck...were sometimes more than five feet high and sometimes less; and this height was divided toward the middle for the slaves to lie in two rows, one above the other, on each side of the ship, close to each other like books upon a shelf [emphasis mine]. I have known them so close that the shelf would not easily contain one more. The Poor [menjcreatures, thus cramped, were likewise in irons for the most part which made it difficult for them to turn or move or attempt to rise or to lie down without hurting themselves or each other.20 Improper ventilation and sanitation facilities, along with the stench they created, served as ideal catalysts for numerous diseases including scurvy, smallpox, flux, and dysentery. Consequently, deaths, especially of African men, occurred by the thousands. Falconbridge remembers that the excessive heat in male compartments was often too extreme for him to bear and that "...the deck, that is, the floor of their rooms was so covered with the blood and mucus which proceeded from them in consequence of flux, that it resembled a slaughterhouse..."21 The effects of such living conditions on the African male psyche are not difficult to imagine. Men embodied rage,

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disgust, sorrow and confusion all simultaneously. Often, as Equiano notes, men found no refuge in each other, not because they were bound, but because they spoke different languages and were, therefore, unable to communicate. Yet even for those who shared a common tongue, what was there to say? For the trauma known to men throughout the Middle Passage leads me to believe that conversation would have soothed few woes. These inhumane living conditions, juxtaposed with the reality of the experience itself, led many men to die simply as a result of hopelessness. On the record, they were reported dead of "Fixed Melancholy."22 This "disease" afflicted those who simply had no desire to live. Captors often wondered how African men (and some women) died of Fixed Melancholy, particularly in those few instances when captives were provided semi-decent traveling conditions. Captors failed to realize that it was not the ship's milieu alone which caused Fixed Melancholy, but also the reality of Africans having been removedfromthe land of their forebears and ancestral spirits. And because West Africans knew the power of spirits and believed that it was, in fact, spirits who controlled human life, some died simply by relinquishing the spirit to live. An eyewitness notes the following: Notwithstanding their apparent good health each morning three or four were found, brought upon deck, taken by the arms and heels, and tossed overboard as unceremoniously as an empty bottle. Of what did they die? And why always at night? In the barracoons it was known that if a Negro was not amused and kept in motion, he would squat down with his chin on his knees and arms clasped about his legs and in a very short time die. ...It is thought impossible to hold one's breath until death follows. It is thought the African can do so. They had DO means of concealing anything and certainly did not kill each other.23 Mannix and Cowley observe correctly that it is biologically impossible to hold one's breath until death occurs. In their opinion, this phenomenon evidenced Africans' ability to "will themselves dead" as a result of the shock of the Middle Passage experience. So men who once stood in defense of their mother's and father's legacy, now, under extreme duress, simply sat down and died. They saw little reason to live, for their manhood had been rendered dysfunctional.

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Yet before West African men resigned completely, they usually endeavored painstakingly tofreethemselves. Historical accounts suggest that the most widely-employed form of resistance during the Middle Passage was mutiny. Numerous texts tell of African men breaking free of their chains and attempting to regain personal agency. In 1727, Captain William Snelgrave reported that, somehow, enslaved menfreedthemselves of their shackles and attempted to usurp authority of his vessel. They were unsuccessful, however, and an African man who killed a white man in the undertaking was "...hoisted as high as possible above the deck and shot to death in the presence of his fellow Africans." Snelgrave says, "I ordered the Linguist to acquaint the men-Negroes,' That now they might judge, no one that killed a white Man should be spared.'"24 Clearly, Snel grave's intent was to deter future efforts by African men to escape his vessel, and, needless to say, the tactic worked. Yet mutinies occurred elsewhere. In fact, on another of his own ships, Snelgrave says: This Mutiny began at Midnight.. .Two Men that stood Gentry at the Forehatch way...permitted four [men slaves] to go to that place, but neglected to lay the Gratings again, as they should have done; whereupon four more Negroes came on Deck.. .and all eight fell on the two Gentries who immediately called out for help. The Negroes endeavored to get their Cutlaces from them, but the Lineyards (that is the Lines by which the Handles of the Cutlaces were fastened to the Men's Wrists) were so twisted in the Scuffle, that they could not get them off before we came lo their Assistance. The Negroes perceiving several white Men coming towards them, with Arms in their hands, quitted the Gentries and jumped over the ship's Side into the Sea...25 Unfortunately, this mutiny, too, was unsuccessful. However, all were not. In their landmark effort, Historical and Cultural Atlas of African Americans, Molefi Asante and Mark Mattson tell of an 1839 insurrection aboard the Amistad, a slave ship resting in the harbor at Havana, Cuba. During the night, those enslaved, led by an African male named Cinque, mysteriously overcame the Captain and other crewmen and insisted that the latter "...steer the ship toward the African coast."26 However, through deceptive means, the

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helmsman actually steered the vessel to Long Island, New York, where, met by a U.S. Navy ship, Cinque and others were arrested and charged with the murder of the white crewmen. They were soon freed, due to New England abolitionist support, and Cinque returned to Sierra Leone in 1842.27 It appears that these uprisings served as final attempts by African men to confirm their sense of manhood. Certainly they were aware of their slim chances of success; nevertheless, to be reminded for a moment of who and what they once were was apparently worth the risk of losing their lives. Indeed, to go down in a revolt assured one of a death with some level of dignity, worth, and meaning. This avenue towards death would certainly appeal more to men than simply to perish at the hands of the captor. The second most common form of resistance was suicide. The numbers of men who employed this method of escape are unknown, although accounts suggest that there were thousands. And the effort some men displayed to ensure a successful suicide attempt is appalling. It was extremely difficult for men to kill themselves because, in most instances, they were shackled throughout the entire Middle Passage voyage. However, many men evidenced a level of ingenuity in their suicide attempt nothing less than horrifying. Thomas Trotter, surgeon on the Brooks, recalls the following incident: There was a man who after being accused of witchcraft, had been sold into slavery with his whole family. During his first night on shipboard he tried to cut his throat. Dr. Trotter sewed up the wound, but on the following night the man not only tore out the sutures but tried to cut his throat on the other side. From the ragged edges of the wound and the blood on his fingers, he seemed to have used his nails as the only available instrument [emphasis mine]. His hands were tied together after the second wound, but he then refused all food, and he died of hunger in eight or ten days.28 One can only conjecture as to the mental state of a man who would take his life in this manner. Clearly, a level of uncontrollable rage was required for this gentleman to tear himself to death. But, more importantly, one must remember that these men camefroma region in Africa where suicide was an abomination. As men of valor, they were celebrated for their ability to secure their lives. Yet aboard slave ships, African men often conceded that suicide

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was their last opportunity to regain personal autonomy and show themselves men. One captor records the joy with which an African man met death on his own terms: One [man] by a violent exertion got loose and flying to the place where the netting had been loosed in order lp empty the tubs, he darted overboard. The ship brought to, a man was placed in the main chains to catch him which he perceiving, made signs which words cannot express expressive of his happiness in escaping. He then went down and was seen no more.29 Never before had West African men thought death was more rewarding than life. However, the experience of the Middle Passage distorted African values and cultural norms such that certain realities, including suicide, taboo in traditional days, became commonplace on slave ships as Africans sought to retain as much of their slowly-fading past as possible. To be sure, suicide, as a means of escape from bondage, was employed by women just as it was by men, and the tragedy was no greater for one than the other. The point simply is that, in the case of men, suicide was seen as the final opportunity for one to secure whatever portion of manhood remained. Yet what of men who attempted suicide, but were not allowed the privilege? For instance, many men sought death through starvation as their only means of resistance. However, throughout the Middle Passage, slavers utilized unimaginable tactics to force men to eat. Falconbridge says: "I have been incredibly informed, that a certain captain in the slave trade, poured melted lead on such of the men negroes as obstinately refused their food."30 Concerning another instance he notes: I have seen coals of fire, glowing hot, put on a shovel and placed so near their lips as to scorch and burn them. And this has been accompanied with threats of forcing them to swallow the coals if they persisted in refusing to eat. This generally had the required effect.31 The tool most commonly used to force Africans, especially men, to eat was known as the Speculum Oris. This instrument resembled a pair of scissors and was "...hammered between the slave's teeth. When the thumbscrew was

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tightened, the legs of the instrument separated, forcing open the slave's mouth; then food was poured into it through a funnel."32 However, this process was often accomplished only after slavers fought for hours to insert the mechanism into men's mouths. And, on occasion, they were simply unsuccessful: ...still he refused to eat. He was then whipped with the cat but this also was ineffectual. He always kept his teeth so fast that it was impossible to get anything down. We then endeavored to introduce a Speculum Oris between his teeth but the points were too obtuse to enter and next tried a bolus knife but with the same effect. In this state he was for four or five days when he was brought up as dead to be thrown overboard..."33 This gentleman was exceptional, however. Primary accounts confirm that, by utilizing various methods, most men were forced to swallow whatever was offered, and with it, of course, their pride and dignity. What must it have meant for men to desire death and yet be unable to secure it? They had survived a process whereby their virility and role within the family structure had been almost completely annihilated. To then be unable to join the ranks of their ancestors at will may have caused many to wonder if they would ever know manhood again. As aforestated, many men leapt overboard ships, hoping to drown themselves, but no sooner had they leapt than they were extracted from the water with nets made solely for that purpose. Surely to approach one's demise contentedly and then be snatched back aboard ship before that contentment was fully realized was the greatest illustration to African men that their autonomy had been usurped by the captor. If nothing else, it stood to prove that they possessed no rights while in the context of the white man, including the right to die. Another reality sustained on this saga which crippled the West African concept of manhood was a horror known as jettison. By defmition, jettison is the discarding of something as useless, worthless, or burdensome. Throughout the Middle Passage, African bodies were jettisoned in many instances. In fact, so frequent was the practice that historians still disagree as to the total number of African bodies dispensed with in this manner. Often, captains and crewmen threw Africans overboard if they contracted a disease which threatened the lives of others or if ship supplies such as food

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began to run short. In 1781 Luke Collingwood, Captain of the Zong, told his fellow crewmen that the water supply on the ship was so low that there was simply not enough to last the remainder of the voyage. He then announced his solution: "It would not be so cruel to throw the poor sick wretches into the sea as to sutler them to linger out a few days under the disorders to which they [are] afflicted." His assistant, James Kelsal, objected to the proposition, proclaiming, "...no present want of water... justifies such a measure." Yet Collingwood persisted and set forth his decree: The said Luke Collingwood picked, or caused to be picked out, from the cargo of the same ship, one hundred and thirty-three slaves, all or most of whom were sick or weak, and not likely to live; and ordered the crew by turns to throw them into the sea; which most inhuman order was cruelly complied with.34 If "most" were "sick and not likely to live," what was the reason for dispensing with the others? This treatment showed a disregard for human life by Europeans foreign to African ontology. Journals speak of crewmen supposedly "having to" dispense with enslaved persons due to illness, death, or simply insubordination. However, given the character and behavior of white sailors, one cannot help but wonder just how sick those disposed of really were, or if, in fact, many were ill at all. This suspicion arises because sailors often received insurance money for each black body "lost" on the seas. So to jettison an African was certainly no major loss to the captain. Actually, to jettison a few might even have proved advantageous, conserving food and water supplies and assuring that those who survived the voyage would mount the auction block healthy. More importantly, however, to what extent did this practice distort the African male's perception of his self-worth? To witness one's family members (or any African for that matter) being cast into the sea doubtless caused men to question both the potency of their manhood and the inherent value of being African. For although these cultural realities were once clearly understood, to see captors dispense with black lives as though they meant nothing to anyone surely made men doubt both their self worth and their communal value. The age-old, white male-black male confrontational discourse started here, as slavers suggested that they were the "truly powerful," that is, the only "real" men, initiating in African males a desire to

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counter that assertion by attempting to demonstrate their manhood. However, their inability to do so aboard slave ships created a tension between African and European males which led many captains to conclude that black men should be watched at all times.35 Jettison was undoubtedly a major contributor to "Fixed Melancholy," although slavers seem not to have made the connection. The reality that one's family member, or simply the man to whom one had been chained, was at the bottom of the Atlantic ocean would have been enough to lead any man into a stupor of depression. For one, there was absolutely no hope that the individual would ever be seen again. But worse for the West African, the spirits of deceased relatives could never be at peace, for they did not receive a proper burial. Consequently, the spirits of the living would also be troubled as they must contend with the reality that many of their relatives had no resting place. This was simply too much for many West African men (and women) to bear. Mannix and Cowley report that, on one voyage, mastered by a Frenchman, "...only twenty of [those enslaved] reached Haiti out of five hundred."36 And for men to have been shackled through it all merely exacerbated their rage and perceived helplessness. This disregard for and discarding of African life made a mockery of West African men and their manhood. And, unfortunately, the jeering continued each day as men were driven to their limits in terms of the humiliation, degradation, and personal displacement they were forced to endure. It is arguable, however, that the worst of possible insults to the West African male's perceived manhood was the reality of branding. Before Africans, especially men, were herded aboard slave vessels, captors branded them with hot irons and attached numbers inscribed on leaden tags.37 Apparently, it was not enough simply to hold the African captive; rather, slavers felt compelled to stamp each African as property. Certainly this was done in order that one could later identify his goods; but it also served to remind the African that he no longer belonged to himself. Surely the realization that one had become a commodity owned by another was sufficiently detrimental; however, the sting intensified as the brand reminded men daily that their personhood had been bought by another. This kind of behavior, this distortion of one's psychological well-being by another, was simply unheard of in most West African communities. Actually, West Africans would have had great difficulty conceptualizing the value of human life in terms of dollars and cents. As far as they were

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concerned, life was simply not for sale. Nonetheless, the brand stood as evidence that the African male's autonomy had been usurped. What he thought, felt, or perceived meant nothing. He was compelled to withstand all the horror we have discussed while feeling the pains of the brand which, symbolically, represented the captor's sovereignty and the African male's impotence. So when enslaved males finally reached the West Indies, they were already enraged, culturally displaced, dehumanized, and probably convinced that manhood, as they understood it, would never be theirs again. One slaver notes that, upon their arrival in the West Indies, enslaved Africans "...displayed very few signs of lamentation for their past or of apprehension for their future condition."38 This is not surprising. Months of unending trauma might cause any person seemingly to abandon his or her emotional, rational self, especially if there were no immediate reasons to hope that conditions might change for the better. And from where the African male stood, he could find little reason to hope for anything. To be sure, life in the West Indies was simply another chapter of horror. Usually, the moment ships docked, captains sold their human cargo via the "scramble" method. Planters literally ran aboard ships, grabbed those Africans perceived as most healthy, and paid captors some agreed-upon price. Yet in some instances, the enslaved were paraded around town (by way of advertisement) before they were publicly auctioned. A young Scotman witnessed one of these "parades" and says, "The whole party was a resurrection of skin and bones...risen from the grave or escaped from Surgeon's Hall."39 He asserts further that the enslaved were "...walking skeletons covered over with a piece of tanned leather. "40 For those who were eventually sold to American planters, this stage of the Middle Passage was known as the "Seasoning Process." In essence, African people were bought by West Indian planters and "fattened" so that they would yield a greater price upon the American auction block. The stage of seasoning was no less traumatic than the Middle Passage. Husbands and wives were often sold to different buyers, and many men were forced to accept the reality that they would never see their children or any of their relatives again. Further, the bonds that men shared as a result of having been chained together for months often caused their separation to be a very emotional moment. Equiano remembers that:

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without scruple, are relations and friends separated, most of them never to see each other again. I remember, in the vessel in which 1 was brought over, in the men's apartment, there were several brothers, who, in the sale, were sold in different lots; and it was very moving on this occasion, to see and hear their cries at parting.41 Whether or not these men were biological brothers is never stated, and is, actually, quite irrelevant. Equiano simply suggests that the auction block destroyed bonds among African men which were often their last memory of home. He is so moved by this recollection that he declares, "O, ye nominal Christians! Might not an African ask you--Learned you this from your God?" The reality of families being separated during enslavement was a tender subject for Equiano, as he was separated from his sister at an early age, one with whom people believed he shared a common soul. He never saw her again in life, and, contrary to the old adage, time did not heal his wound. As an adult, he attacked slave traders by asking vehemently: Is it not enough that we are torn from our country and friends, to toil for your luxury and lust of gain? Must every tender feeling be likewise sacrificed to your avarice? Are the dearest friends and relations, now rendered more dear by their separation from their kindred, still to be partedfromeach other, and thus prevented from cheering the gloom of slavery, with the small comfort of being together, and mingling their sufferings and sorrows? Why are parents to lose their children, brothers their sisters, or husbands their wives? Surely, this is a new refinement in cruelty...42 And one of the greatest cruelties of the Middle Passage and the seasoning process was the extent to which these moments functioned to displace the West African male perception of himself. For, once bound and sold to planters, men functioned only in the capacity of servants. They were not essential to reproduction, they possessed none of the goods they deemed necessary to consider themselves functional husbands or fathers, and, worse, they could not even boast the ability to defend themselves. Certainly women and womanhood, too, underwent a certain level of displacement; yet possibly the displacement of African manhood could have been more severe. For

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while women at least remained acquainted with womanhood, particularly motherhood via childbearing and nursing (although often under adverse circumstances), men were left with no real or visible reminder of what it once meant to be a West African man. in a very real sense, African men stood at the farthest ends of the social margin, for they were mere observers. As Paula Giddings puts it in When and Where I Enter, "[SJlave women maintained authority over the domestic domain—as women have traditionally done—while Black men had no authority over the traditional male spheres of influence."43 This is not a claim, however, that the process of enslavement was more traumatic for African men than for African women. Such a conclusion would be erroneous. Rather, the point is that the impact of enslavement on the West African concept of manhood was more destructive than might at first appear, primarily because West African manhood was rooted and grounded in a male's ability to perform. Hence, his inability to "do" equaled his inability to "be." Consequently, by the end of the Middle Passage: much of the African past had been annihilated; nearly every prior connection had been severed. Not that he had really "forgotten" all these things—his family and kinship arrangements, his language, the tribal religion, the taboos, the name he had once borne, and so on—but none of it any longer carried much meaning. The old values, sanctions, the standards, already unreal, could no long furnish him guides for conduct for adjusting to the expectations of a complete new life.44 In other words, due to the Middle Passage, the African world and accompanying constructs no longer served as focal referent for the African male. His perception of manhood rested in a reality which the new system now marked "past" and "void." He remembered the days of wrestling matches and warriorhood, but those moments no longer functioned to define his present identity, in fact, if an enslaved male had told a stranger of the bygone days of his virility, the stranger might have concluded that the former was psychologically deranged, for his present condition offered too great a contrast for one to have believed that he was ever a warrior. Consequently, West African manhood began to slip into the realm of mythology, for

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although it was still spoken of and remembered, it had no "real" manifestation. Clearly, for Afiican men to have moved from a state of independence and personal security to one of helplessness and complete vulnerability in only a matter of months meant that the transition they experienced must have been psychologically profound. And indeed it was. Actually, African manhood underwent such a blow during the Middle Passage that, had men been allowed to return home, one wonders to what extent they would have been able to believe in and uphold the West African concept of manhood as a viable social (and now personal) construct, especially since it had been proved insufficient to sustain them. For the West African male who survived the Middle Passage, the notion of manhood must have been modified. Certainly the social context which he once depended upon to support his idea of manhood no longer existed. But, worse, his belief in his own possibilities had often been annihilated as well. Therefore, as Elkins asks, "Where then was he to look for new standards, new cues—who would furnish them now?" And for the West African male whose manhood had been all but destroyed: He could now look to none but his master, the one to whom the system had committed his entire being: the man upon whose will depended his food, his shelter, his sexual connections, whatever moral instruction he might be offered, whatever "success" was possible within the system, his very security—in short, everything.45

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60 Notes

1. William Chace and Peter Collier (ed.), Justice Denied: The Black Man in White America (New York: Harcourt, Brace and World Inc., 1970), 14. 2. Olaudah Equiano, The Interesting Narrative of the Life ofOlaudah Equiano or Gustavus Vassa, the African (1794) reprinted by Greenwood Publishing Corp., 1969,8. 3. Venture Smith,/! Narrative of the Life and Adventures of Venture, A Native of Africa: But Resident Above Sixty Years in the United States of America (1798) reprinted in Dorothy Porter (ed.) Early Negro Writing, 1760-1837 (Boston: Beacon Press, 1971), 543. 4. Stanley Elkins, Slavery: A Problem in American Institutional and Intellectual Life (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1968), 99. 5. Smith, Narrative of the Life, 543. 6. Elkins, Slavery, 99. 7. Equiano, The Interesting Narrative, 41. 8. Chace and Collier, Justice Denied, 36. 9. Nicholas Owen, Journal of A Slave Dealer: A View of Some Remarkable Axcedents in the Life of Nicholas Owen on the Coast of Africa and America from the Year 1746 to the Year 1757, ed. and introduced by Eveline Martin (New York: Houghton and Mifflin Co., 1930), 37. 10. Alexander Falconbridge, An Account of the Slave Trade on the Coast of Africa 1788 (London: J. Phillips), 19. 11. Ibid., 21. 12. "Dancing the Slaves" was an activity ship captains utilized to keep Africans physically fit and healthy in order that they would yield a greater profit upon the auction block in the Americas. 13. Daniel P. Mannix and Malcolm Cowley, Black Cargoes: A History of the Atlantic Slave Trade 1518-1865 (New York: The Viking Press, 1962), 114. 14. Equiano, The Interesting Narrative, 43. 15. Aluife De Cada Moflo, The Voyage of Alufe da Cada Mofto in 1455 Along the Coast of Africa as Far as Rio Grande, Written by Himfelf 582. 16. Falconbridge, An Account of the Slave Trade, 24.

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17. Lerone Bennett, Jr., Before the Mayflower (New York: Penguin Books, 1984 edition), 49. 18. YdXcovJoridigz, An Account of the Slave Trade, 24. 19. Equiano, The Interesting Narrative, 48. 20. Quoted in Mannix and Cowley, Black Cargoes, 120. 21. Falconbridge, An Account of the Slave Trade, 26. 22. Mannix and Cowley, Black Cargoes, 119. 23. Ibid., 120. 24. Quoted in Vincent Harding, There Is A River: The Black Struggle for Freedom in America (New York: Vintage Books, 1983), 11. 25. Quoted in Mannix and Cowley, Black Cargoes, 109. 26. Molefi K. Asante and Mark Mattson, The Historical and Cultural Atlas of African Americans (New York: Macmillan Publishing Company, 1991), 55 & 56. 27. Ibid. 28. Quoted in Mannix and Cowley, Black Cargoes, 118. 29. Ibid., 119. 30. Falconbridge, An Account of the Slave Trade, 23. 31. Quoted in Mannix and Cowley, Black Cargoes, 119. 32. Ibid. 33. Ibid. 34. Prince Hoar, Memoirs of Granville Sharp (London, 1820) in Elizabeth Donnan's Documents Illustrative of the History of the Slave Trade to America (Washington, 1930-1935), 555-57. 35. Falconbridge, An Account of the Slave Trade, 20. 36. Mannix and Cowley, Black Cargoes, 125. 37. William Bosnian, ,4 New and Accurate Description of the Coast of Guinea (London: J. Knapton, 1705), 363-365. 38. Quoted in Elkins, Slavery, 101. 39. Quoted in Mannix and Cowley, Black Cargoes, 128. 40. Ibid. 41. Equiano, The Interesting Narrative, 52. 42. Ibid. 43. Paula Giddings, When and Where I Enter (New York: Morrow, 1984), 72. 44. Elkins, Slavery, 41.

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Dismantling Black Manhood 45. Elkins, Slavery, 102.

IV Plantation Existence and the West African Concept of Manhood By the time the enslaved African male finally reached America, the construction of his new identity was already well underway. Bondage had forcibly removed him from his role as husband, father, provider, and community leader. Consequently, he lost his manhood—as he had known it—and came to regard his days of power, authority, and autonomy as dear, precious memories. In short, enslavement had severed him from his West African context. He lost his language, many of his cultural referents, his land, his religion (in its purest form), and his belief in his own possibilities. Once African men found themselves on various American plantations, their focal referent or "location"1 had already begun to shift toward that of their European captor. He possessed the goods African men needed to survive from day to day; hence, he became "The Man."2 Even for those African men who fought against him- and there were many-the white man still occupied center stage in their psyches, for he was the one with whom African men were primarily concerned. In other words, regardless of the particulars concerning black male/white male relations, regardless of whether the former sought the latter's applause or his death, captors served as the black male's primary mental preoccupation. This was logical, however, for "in the same way that the slave looked upon his master with hatred and resentment, he also resented and envied the master's possessions because those possessions were associated with freedom and power to direct one's life, family and community."3 Moreover, everywhere the black male turned he met a law, institution, ideology, or individual that functioned to remind him of his inferiority, disallowing him agency, autonomy, or respect. And as far as 63

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manhood was concerned, captors made it clear that it was a white male privilege, suggesting that African men should expend neither their time nor their energy in its pursuit. But manhood they pursued nonetheless. And although most were unsuccessful on their own terms, African men seem never to have relinquished the desire for full manhood status in America. This is evident in the literature written by enslaved African men. In fact, since the publication of Gustavus Vassa's 1789 narrative, black men in America have attempted to explore and examine the difficulties of acquiring manhood within a system structured to deny them its acquisition. Therefore, if one would comprehend fully the black male struggle for manhood in America, one must turn first to the narrative accounts of enslaved African men and listen to what they have to say concerning this, as yet, unresolved issue. Such knowledge will prepare the way for contemporary scholars to understand the historical evolution of the black male dilemma in America. More specifically, The Interesting Narrative of the Life ofOlaudah Equiano or Gustavus Vassa, The African, Written by Himself (1794) and A Narrative of the Life and Adventures of Venture, A Native of Africa; But Resident Above Sixty Years in the United States of America (1798) will serve as primary source material as we attempt to understand better the impact of enslavement and plantation existence on the West African concept of manhood as held byfirst-generationAfrican men in America, particularly as it pertains to notions of virility, husbandhood, and fatherhood. It is interesting to note that neither Vassa nor Smith assumed the pen in quest of literary acclaim or as a means of personal entertainment. Rather, for them, writing was a mode of telling one's story in hopes that readers might know how the authors "made it over." The absence or limited use of certain literary and creative devices in these and other 18th and 19th century black narratives supports the assumption that their authors were more committed to the idea of "literature as testimony" than to the belief that "literature is art. "4 Black narratives of the era functioned more as the written testimonials of their authors than as evidence of their creative genius. This is essential to note, for, otherwise, early black writers such as Vassa and Smith might be assessed as mediocre because of the absence of certain literary elements in their works critics consider essential to "good" literature. Yet, as they stated, their goal was not to impress readers with language, but, rather, to inform them of the vicissitudes of life they had encountered and, somehow, endured.

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Venture Smith's amanuensis states the following in the preface to Smith's 1798 narrative: "[T]he following account of the life of Venture is a relation of simple facts...If any should suspect the truth of what is here related, they are referred to people now living who are acquainted with most of the facts mentioned in the narrative."5 In other words, Smith's aim in writing his autobiography was simply to relay the truth of his life as he understood it and in terms his associates could easily have verified. Metaphors, symbols, and the like were not employed often in the text, for Smith's aim was not to create so much as it was to testify to that which he had experienced. Gustavus Vassa shares this position. In his narrative, he claims that he is not a writer, meaning one who has mastered the art of language manipulation, but that he wrote his autobiography solely in hopes of advancing humanity: I am not so foolishly vain as to expect from [The Narrative] either immortality or literary reputation. If it affords any satisfaction to my numerous friends, at whose request it has been written, or in the smallest degree promotes the interest of humanity, the ends for which it was undertaken will be fully attained, and every wish of my heart gratified.6 Therefore the wealth of these two narratives lies not in their literary achievement, but in their ability to tell readers "the way it was" for blacks—especially men—in 18th century America and to do so in an unadulterated fashion. The argument as to whether or not black narratives were "authentic" does not hinder our project here, for even if amanuenses tampered with texts for their own abolitionist motives,7 Vassa's and Smith's strong commitment to telling the truth—which they believed others could verify—leads me to believe that what we find in their narratives can still be taken as valid information. The following excerpt, published in 1789, concerning the authenticity of Vassa's narrative, supports my confidence: We entertain no doubt of the general authenticity of this very intelligent African's interesting story; though it is not improbable that some English writer has assisted him in the compilement, or, at least, the correction of his book: for it is sufficiently well written.

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Dismantling Black Manhood The narrative wears an honest face: and we have conceived a good opinion of the man, from the artless manner in which he has detailed the variety of adventures and vicissitudes which have fallen to his lot... Gustavus Vassa appears to possess a very different character; and, therefore, we heartily wish success to his publication, which we are glad to see has been encouraged by a very respectable subscription.8

So, by tijrning to these narratives for insight into the perceptions of manhood held byfirst-generationenslaved African men in America, we assure that our data on the subject are both valid and reliable, and we allow readers to understand the phenomenon from the perspective of those African men who struggled with it. Venture Smith begins his narrative by declaring that he is the descendant of a proud, prosperous, well-built African people: "1 descended from a very large, tall, and stout race of beings much larger than the generality of people in other parts of the globe, being commonly considerable above six feet in height and every way well proportioned. "9 He then speaks specifically of his father, Saungm Furro, emphasizing that he was "Prince of the Tribe of Dukandarra" (Guinea). Readers realize that Venture loved his father dearly and, at one time, anxiously awaited the opportunity to stand alongside him as a celebrated contributor to the family's male legacy. However, Saungm Furro is captured and tortured to death along the Long March. From that moment, Venture's self-perception is seriously marred and, after his father's murder, he is no longer able to clearly define his role in life. As a seven-year-old, all he knows about men and manhood is the example his father and other men of the community provide, but the enslavement of his people makes such knowledge obsolete. Although Venture never states as much, the tone he employs while speaking of his father suggests his belief that his father's absence equals the absence of something deep within himself. Venture seems to conclude that, due to his father's capture and subsequent murder, he will never be the man he was destined to be, the man his father was. Nostalgically, he says: [My father was] a man of remarkable stature. I should judge as much as six feet and six or seven inches high, two feet across his shoulders and every way well proportioned. He was a man of

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remarkable strength and resolution affable, kind and gentle, ruling with equity and moderation.10 Even as a child, Venture realized that enslavement severed his connection to his father's legacy. He also knew that, regardless of his efforts, he could never be the West African man he aspired to be, for he no longer had his father (or any West African male for that matter) to accompany him through the proper rites of passage. Indeed, the rituals themselves no longer existed, for enslavement destroyed these and most other African cultural norms. Consequently, Venture left Guinea at age seven or eight, never having had the opportunity to experience the passage to manhood known to his father. As he matures, he depends upon his memory of his father and other Guinea men as he constructs—often subconsciously—a concept of manhood which he hopes will sustain him. Vassa's plight is startlingly similar. He also has a strong affinity towards his father and, in fact, sees himself merely as an extension of the great chief. He writes: My father was one of those elders or chiefs I have spoken of and was styled ' Embrenche,' a term, as I remember, importing the highest distinction and signifying in our language a mark of grandeur. My father had long borne it: I had seen it conferred on one of my brothers, and 1 also was destined to receive it. ' ! One critic asserts that "Equiano therefore knew even as a child that he, like his father and brother, was destined to wear the mark of distinction."12 Yet his capture at age nine bars him the privilege of becoming embrenche. He is unsure of what his future holds, but is certain that his separation from his father will have adverse effects on his maturation. He knows that whatever he becomes, whatever perception of manhood he embraces, he must now do it alone. Like Venture, Gustavus is deprived of the various rites by which he would come to understand the nature and function of manhood; consequently, as both grow older, they are left to fight in the dark for some semblance of the manhood ideal their fathers boldly upheld. And because they are removed from their homeland and enslaved by a people whose sensibility and cosmology does not even slightly resemble their own,13 their maturation as African boys becomes even more problematic. Put simply,

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their entire West African cultural matrix now exists solely in the past. As males, they can depend only upon memories of their fathers and the model of manhood which they embody as they attempt to maneuver themselves through a hostile, Eurocentric sociocultural space. Equiano recalls that, from his earliest youth, his father trained him to stand within the warrior tradition of the people of Benin. Says he, "I was trained up from my earliest years in the art of war: my daily exercise was shooting and throwing javelins; and my mother adorned me with emblems, after the manner of our greatest warriors."14 Had he remained in his parents' village, he would have become a West African man in terms all understood. His father would have assured as much. Yet, without his father and, in fact, the entire West African context, Gustavus is forced to enter adulthood with only memories of African men and how they negotiated their manhood. Both boys seem to realize the significance of their fathers to how they perceive themselves and acquire manhood. But more importantly, they seem to conclude that the destruction of their bonds with their fathers means they will never become men as defined by their respective West African communities. However, in order that readers not be misled, it is important to note that both Venture and Gustavus are also extremely fond of their mothers and say so quite clearly. Gustavus says unashamedly, "1 was so fond of my mother I could not keepfromher,"15 and Venture proclaims the joy with which he met his mother after having been separated from her for some time as a child.16 Their mothers certainly play a major role in their lives, and both Gustavus and Venture mention the love and attention received from them. Yet when they speak about themselves as future men, the boys' fathers become the central figure in their lives. This is to be expected, for, as we determined in chapter 2, it was primarily a father's responsibility to usher his son into manhood, although mothers definitely assisted in the process. Venture's and Gustavus's emphasis on and praise of their fathers, then, stands not as evidence that they valued them over their mothers, but rather that, as males, the boys were concerned about what they would become, since they could no longer depend upon their fathers to accompany them into the realm of West African manhood. Said differently, their identity and self-confidence as African males were now in question because of their fathers' absence. Such uncertainty led them to emphasize their paternal legacy as evidence that they were not always enslaved but, in fact, stood within a strong male lineage of which they were intended to continue.

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Once they describe their fathers, both then chronicle how they acquire their new names. But their tales are not ones of joy. Quite the opposite, Venture and Gustavus speak of the anguish they felt when forced to relinquish their birth names. A name in traditional West African communities carries meaning and worth and embodies power enough to shape one's character.17 Once the boys lose their names, they also lose an aspect of their African being, as Equiano explains: [African] children were named from some event, some circumstance or fancied foreboding, at the time of their birth. 1 was named Olaudah, which in our language signifies vicissitude, or fortunate; also one favored and having a loud voice and well spoken. I remember we never polluted the name of the object of our adoration; on the contrary, it was always mentioned with the greatest reverence; and we were totally unaquainted with swearing, and all those terms of abuse and reproach which find their way so readily and copiously into the language of more civilized people.18 Obviously, he understands the significance of his name and the place of names in the West African sensibility. He understands, too, that once his captor changes his name, he ceases being "The Fortunate One." He protests the alteration, but to no avail. Says he, "While I was on board this ship, my captain and master named me Gustavus Vassa...when I refused to answer to my new name, which I at first did, it gained me many a cuff; so at length I submitted, and by which I have been known ever since."19 His tone here is one offrustrationand, ultimately, defeat. Because he is a child at the time, he possesses neither sufficient strength nor courage to contend with his captor, and his new name removes him further from his African center and from the West African manhood tradition. Venture also endures the reality of losing his birth name, which, given him by his father, is Broteer.20 He is proud of his name, for it reflects his place as the eldest son in his father's kingdom. (Venture never states the meaning of the name.) He is the one to whom all of his father's possessions—material and otherwise—would be bequeathed upon his demise, and it would be his responsibility to assure the transition of his younger brothers from boyhood to manhood in the event of his father's death or illness. In short, the name "Broteer" reminds Venture of who he used to be

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and all that that included, for when he mentions it, he also recalls his former African identity. However, as a consequence of enslavement, that identity is lost, never to be recovered. Venture states helplessly: "1 was bought on board by one Robertson Mumford...for four gallons of rum and a piece of calico and called Venture, on account of his having purchased me with his own private venture. Thus 1 came by my name."21 Unlike the name Broteer, "Venture" carries no meaning for the African lad and, in fact, each time he hears it, his anger increases. Moreover, the fact that he acquires the name in a most arbitrary fashion fuels his resentment of it beyond words. The name his father conferred upon him is now obsolete, and his destiny to emulate his father's greatness, including his father's manhood, has been disrupted beyond repair. Historians confirm that the changing of African people's names occurred quite frequently. Because Venture and Gustavus were children when their captors changed their names, some might believe that the shift in their identity was less traumatic than it would have been had they been adults. Yet, according to historian Eugene Genovese, captors bestowed names (especially surnames) on adults as well as children, and particularly on men—to further ensure their subordination.22 Certainly most objected to this act, although, in the end, captors overruled their objections. William Wells Brown notes that he received "several severe whippings" for not answering to the name his captor assigned. About the name-changing process, he says, "1 thought it to be one of the most cruel acts that could be committed upon my rights."23 Once he was set free, he relinquished the imposed name and kept William, "for it had been given him by his mother and remained his own."24 Interestingly enough, captors not only replaced African names with European ones, but, as a demonstration of their power, often gave new European names to slaves whose names had already been changed. For example, an enslaved male named George on a Mississippi plantation might be renamed Henry by a South Carolina buyer. This act served to remind African people that their reality was shaped and determined by their captors, although many fought vehemently against such dominance. Indeed, in more than a few instances, captors felt compelled to meet such resistance with physical force, especially where men were concerned, in order that they would accept their new names and the authority they represented. This happens in Alex Haley's saga Roots. Kunta Kinte, the family patriarch, is

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strung up and flogged by his captor in an attempt to force him to accept his new name. He protests strongly, proclaiming that "1 am Kunta Kinte, first son of Omoro, who is the son of the holy man Kairaba Kunta Kinte!"25 Yet, after innumerable stripes and after having been beaten into a state of semi-consciousness, Kunta accepts—at least verb ally—the name "Toby" and is forced to swallow his African pride. For most men, renaming heightened the tension between captive and captor and gave African men even greater contempt for white men in general. Whether or not captors knew from the onset, as Genovese suggests they did, that changing an African man's name insulted his manhood, they certainly found out quickly and exploited this means of humiliation extensively. In fact, the changing of African men's names was one of the first moves captors made to show the former that they belonged to their owners. Even in instances where African people voluntarily assumed their captors' names, the act was no more than a survival tactic. Many adopted the names of their owners to keep their links to their family members who possessed the same name.26 So whether by force or through misdirection, changing an enslaved African man's name added insult to injury, for he could not then even be identified as a West African man. Worse, his new name illustrated to the world that the virility he once boasted had been replaced with subservience. Interestingly, even today, black men become incensed when people—especially white men—call them some name other than their birth name. Most white men know that to call a black man "boy," for instance, is an invitation for a brawl. The word "boy" suggests to black men that their manhood is not recognized, much less respected. Further, it serves to remind them of the bondage and utter humiliation their African forefathers endured simply as a result of being black, male, and in America. And, however unfortunate, that reminder triggers an emotional response in black men which makes them temporarily irrational, leading most to conclude that they must fight the white foe, for their manhood is on the line.27 Once Venture arrives in America, he is bought by one Captain Luke Collingwood who resides in Rhode Island. The first thing he notes about plantation existence is that his virility, the very foundation of his concept of manhood, is destroyed each time his captor physically abuses him. Although he is no more than 12 or 13 years old at the time of his arrival, he endures maltreatment as severe as that meted out to adults. He works hard and proves

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himself to be a faithful servant, giving his all to any task he undertakes. Often, however, his all is simply insufficient. On one occasion, the captor's son attempts to chasten Venture, claiming that he could have done twice as much work as he did. Venture protests, insisting that he was working at his greatest capacity and that, in fact, he could not possibly have done more. According to Venture, the captor's son was angered by his verbal outburst: [He] broke out in a great rage, snatched a pitchfork and went to lay me over the head therewith; but 1 as soon got another and defended myself with it, or otherwise he might have murdered me in his outrage. He immediately called some people who were within hearing at work for him and ordered them to take his hair rope and come andbindme with it. They all tried to bind me but in vain, tho' there were three assistants in number.28 This must have been a sight to behold, as Venture was only about 12 years old at the time. For him to be able to withstand the assault of three adult men must have convinced them that they needed stronger—or at least other—measures to ensure Venture's subordination. Yet, one step ahead of them in his thinking, Venture makes a critical move important for us to examine. He says: My upstart master then desisted, put his pocket handkerchief before his eyes and went home with a design to tell his mother of the struggle with young Venture. He told her that their young Venture had become so stubborn that he could not control him...In the meantime I recovered my temper, voluntarily caused myself to be bound by the same men who tried in vain before, and carried before my young master that he might do what he pleased with me.29 Venture apparently concludes that, although he clearly possesses the ability to defend himself, to continue to do so might be unwise. In other words, after showing the white men they could not control him, Venture second guesses his actions. Even as a child, he knew that the entire system of enslavement was built upon the European control of Africans, and if he—an African man—could not be controlled today, they would surely devise a system whereby he could be controlled tomorrow. And, to be sure, the measures

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they would use to control him would be so unbearable that, later, he would wish he had simply acquiesced from the onset. In short, Venture knew that, if he did not submit voluntarily, he would endure a punishment so severe that it simply was not worth the satisfaction he would have received from displaying his virility. On another level, Venture realizes that his struggle is not only with his captor but with all who support the system of enslavement. For, initially, the altercation involves only Venture and the captor's son; however, when the latter alone is unable to secure Venture's obedience, he calls three other white men to help him subdue this "Black man gone crazy." Had Venture not submitted at this juncture, other men and mechanisms would have been called upon to help regain control of him, even if, in the end, his submission meant his death. Venture surely recognizes as much and decides to suffer punishment rather than risk his life in a struggle he is sure to lose eventually. His story continues: He took me to a gallows made for the purpose of hanging cattle on and suspended me on it. Afterwards he ordered one of his hands to go to the peach orchard and cut him three dozen of whips to punish me with. These were brought to him, and that was all that was done with them, as I was released and went to work after hanging on the gallows about an hour.30 We can only conjecture as to Venture's thoughts while hanging from the gallows. Was the fact that he was alive sign enough to him that he had made the right decision? He was probably uncertain about what he would do if such circumstances arose again. But what he knew well was that, unlike back home, he could no longer depend upon his virility to protect him from his enemy. In truth, his physical strength had become a threat to his owner's ability to retain authority over him. Consequently, Venture became afraid to defend himself for fear that his captor would exploit every available means to show him that he (Venture) was both the bought and the bossed. If he would keep his life, Venture has no choice but to become his captor's obedient servant, for he knows that not only his captor, but, indeed, the entire system of enslavement and white supremacy in America is dedicated to guaranteeing his subservience.

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Gustavus Vassa also experiences physical torture as a youth. His abuse begins during the Middle Passage voyage. While on the slave ship, he realizes that he will never see his homeland again and becomes so depressed and physically ill that he is unable to eat. He does not attempt to surmount his illness, for he resolves to meet death through starvation as his last hope of escape from bondage. Yet his resolution is interrupted by white crew members when, as Gustavus says, "[T]o my grief, two of the white men offered me eatables; and, on my refusing to eat, one of them held me fast by the hands, and laid me across, I think the windlass, and tied my feet, while the other flogged me severely."31 Like Venture, Gustavus is a mere child when he receives hisfirstlashing. Yet he remembers it, for it introduces him to a phenomenon of which he is heretofore unaware, namely, that white men will, if necessary, beat a black male into submission. About the abuse, Equiano says: I had never experienced anything of this kind before, and although not being used to the water, I naturally feared that element the first time 1 saw it, yet, nevertheless, could I have got over the nettings, I would have jumped over the side, but I could not. And besides, the crew used to watch us very closely who were not chained down to the decks, lest we should leap into the water; and I have seen some of these poor African prisoners most severely cut, for attempting to do so, and hourly whipped for not eating. This indeed was often the case with myself.32 The brutal character of white men is not only appalling to Equiano but also unexplainable. He is unable to comprehend how any human being could ever subject another to such abuse. He remarks that "[T]he white people looked and acted, as I thought, in so savage a manner; for I had never seen among any people such instances of brutal cruelty."33 As a result of the maltreatment he receives, Gustavus learns not to defy white men, for they will do whatever necessary, be their means immoral or destructive, to attain that which they desire. In Gustavus's psyche (and those of other African men at the time), white men become his greatest fear, because their actions show him that they have little regard for anyone other than themselves and even less for black men, whom theyflogsofrequentlythat the practice becomes commonplace.

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Gustavus is eventually sold to the Englishman who gives him his new name, and he meets the lash once again for refusing to accept it. His reaction to the forced change is understandable, as "Olaudah Equiano," his birth name, is his last reminder of his African past. He has come to terms with the reality that he will never see the shores of Africa again and has resolved that he will probably meet death without ever being reunited with his sister, his self-declared soulmate.34 Therefore, when the captor takes his name, the act is seen by Equiano as thefinalevent in the destruction of his African identity. He tries with all his might not to relinquish his birth name by ignoring his master and other white crewmen who refer to him as "Gustavus," but the physical abuse he encounters as a consequence of his "disobedience" overpowers his ability to oppose them. Says he, "[W]hen I refused to answer to my new name, which I at first did, it gained me many a cuff; so at length I submitted, and by which I have been known ever since."35 As a sevenyear-old child, he simply is not able to withstand the physical advances of the captor. But, as we shall see later, even in his adulthood, physical abuse remains the primary means by which his submission is assured. So the two boys mature, understanding maltreatment as the consequence of disobeying their captors. They see that, unlike in Africa, physical reprimanding in America is not a parental corrective measure, but a method of teaching African people the sin of defying the white man. When enslaved African men are abused for not complying to their captor's will, they do not conclude that their behavior is wrong necessarily, but, rather, that they should modify it because it is not expedient in their present condition. This premise is important for us to examine, for notions of right and wrong become skewed for African men (and women) on the plantation. In practice, at least within the public transcript, that which is "right" is that which the captor sanctions; on the other hand, anything he rejects or disagrees with is understood as being "wrong."36 Thus the Africans' sense of agency is usurped by the captor; they no longer possess the right to think for themselves but are now forced to think--at least publicly—as he thinks. And, as Akbar proclaims, "fT]he slavery that captures the mind and incarcerates the motivation, perception, aspiration, and identity in a web of anti-self images, generating a personal and collective self-destruction, is more cruel than the shackles on the wrists and ankles."37 The expectation of enslaved men to comply with the captor's will at all times, even in the face of physical abuse, presents many problems for

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Venture and Gustavus once they enter adulthood. For example, after living with his captor some 13 years, Venture marries an enslaved woman named Meg, and, as a grown man, his circumstances force him to rethink his response to maltreatment and its impact on his perception of manhood. Although he acquiesced to abuse as a child, he finds it extremely difficult to do so as an adult. He simply cannot accept the fact that another man rules his existence, and his captor feels "forced" occasionally to remind Venture that he is the inferior, powerless servant, possessing no authority over anything. One of these reminders comes when Venture witnesses Meg being beaten by her mistress and intervenes on his wife's behalf by taking the whip from the mistress and throwing it into the fire. Fortunately, the incident occurs when the mistress's husband is away. But when he returns, he is told of the incident. He seems to give the matter little thought, for he neither says nor does anything for many days thereafter. Then, one afternoon, catching Venture off guard, he lays him a very severe blow on the head. Without thinking about his response, Venture turns on the captor and begins to beat him mercilessly. But, realizing the "error" of his ways, Venture stops his tirade and runs to the local Justice of the Peace, begging for mercy. The Justice tells Venture's captor and hisfriendthat they should not treat Venture so abusively and then recommends that they go home together and attempt to live in peace. Yet Venture says that, as soon as they leave the Justice's office, his captor and the other white man "both dismounted their respective horses and fell to beating me with great violence. I became enraged at this and immediately turned them both under me, laid one of them across the other and stamped both with my feet what I would."38 As an adult, he is unable—and apparently unwilling—to accept abuse without retaliation. He is certainly aware of the consequences of his actions, but, as an African man, he simply cannot endure physical torture without at least attempting to defend himself, for he understands his virility to be an integral part of his manhood. Venture is eventually subdued and bound by handcuffs and feet padlocks. While in this state, his owner asks him if he is ready to submit, and Venture responds with an emphatic "no." His captor then says, "1 will send you to the West Indies or banish you, for I am resolved not to keep you." Venture declares, "1 crossed the waters to come here, and J am willing to cross them to return."39 His strong dialogue suggests that he is fighting for his pride at this point. Certainly Venture will suffer for his unacceptable words

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and actions, but defending himself—if only for a moment—seems worth the imminent punishment, for he experiences autonomy again, though only temporarily. The handcuffs and padlocks remind him both that he is a victim of enslavement and, more importantly, that the actualization of his manhood is always limited to what the captor will allow. In the end, Venture's behavior causes his captor to sell him to a Mr. Hempsted Miner, whereupon his torture increases, for he is now separated from his wife whom he loves dearly. Such extreme measures show Venture that, regardless of age and maturity, a black male in America is never supposed to rise and take control of his own life. Autonomous action is antithetical to the social hierarchy enslavement establishes. Gustavus also has a difficult time sustaining abuse as an adult. Fortunately, hefindsfavor with his owner and, therefore, is not flogged often. However, to see other African people abused by their captors seems equally torturous to him. For instance, while in Montserrat (Gustavus spends the majority of his life traveling the seas, as his captor is a sailor), he meets an African man named Emanuel Sankey who attempts to escape bondage by concealing himself aboard a vessel bound for London. Unfortunately, however, Emanuel is discovered and returned to his owner. Vassa recalls with horror, disgust, and anger the punishment Emanuel is forced to endure: "This Christian master immediately pinned the wretch down to the ground at each wrist and ankle, and then took some sticks of sealing wax, and lighted them, and dropped it all over his back."40 The fact that Gustavus can afford Emanuel no protection gnaws at his manhood. Gustavus reports another instance: There was another master who was noted for cruelty; I believe he had not a slave but what had been cut, and had pieces fairly taken out of the flesh. And after they had been punished thus, he used to make them get into a long wooden box or case he had for that purpose, in which he shut them up during pleasure. It was just about the height and breadth of a man; and the poor wretches had no room, when in the case, to move. It was very common in several of the islands, particularly in St. Kitt's (sic), for the slaves to be branded with the initial letters of their master's name; and a load of heavy iron hooks hung about

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Dismantling Black Manhood their necks. Indeed, on the most trifling occasions, they were loaded with chains; and often instruments of torture were added. The iron muzzle, thumb-screws, &c, are so well known, as not to need a description, and were sometimes applied for the slightest faults. I have seen a negro beaten till some of his bones were broken, for only letting a pot boil over. Is it surprising that usage like this should drive the poor creatures to despair, and make them seek a refuge in death from those evils which render their lives intolerable?41

These experiences show Gustavus the extent of the impotence African men throughout the diaspora, including himself, are forced to endure. Consequently, he begins to wonder about the value of being an African male. His life is filled with nothing but illustrations of African male helplessness and hopelessness. And although he is now an adult, he sees that he is no closer to manhood than he was as a child. In fact, in one sense, he remains a child for life, for he is never afforded the opportunity to function independently of white men. As I mentioned, Gustavus is seldom mistreated, because he is seen as an African with some level of intelligence and is, consequently, prized by his captor. And in an effort not to lose his good place in his master's eye, Gustavus does not assert his virility either in his own defense or in his brother's, although he definitely desires to do so. However, Gustavus's frustration with this reality, his discontentment with himself as a living paradox, allows him little rest physically or emotionally. He cites the following poem, entitled "The Dying Negro," as illustration of his sentiments: Now dragg'd once more beyond the western main, To groan beneath some dastard planter's chain; Where my poor countrymen in bondage wait The long enfranchisement of a ling'ring fate. Hardling'ring fate! while, ere the dawn of day, Rous'd by the lash they go their cheerless way; And as their souls with shame and anguish burn, Salute with groans unwelcome morn's return; And, chiding ev'ry hour the slow pac'd sun,

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Pursue their toils till all his race is run. No eye to mark their suffrings with a tear, No friend to comfort, and no hope to cheer; Then, like the dull unpity'd brutes, repair To stall as wretched, and as coarse a fare; Thank heaven one day of misery was o'er, Then sink to sleep, and wish to wake no more.42 Gustavus is as much the "Dying Negro" as is any other African man at the time. He has no modes of expression whereby his inner man can speak, and he is forced to live a life of nothing but confinements. His visit to Savannah, Georgia, confirms his belief that white men will kill a black man if he does not behave as they deem fit. Vassa says that he was visiting some "negroes in their master's yard" when Doctor Perkins, the plantation owner, and "a ruffian of a white man he had in his service, beset me in an instant and both of them struck me with the first weapons they could get hold of."43 Gustavus is both stunned and infuriated, for he knows he has done nothing wrong. He chooses not to fight back, however, in an effort to retain his reputation as a "good servant." He says: I cried out as long as I could for help and mercy; but, though I gave a good account of myself, and he knew my captain, who lodged hard by him, it was to no purpose. They beat and mangled me in a shameful manner, leaving me near dead. I lost so much blood from the wounds 1 received, that 1 lay quite motionless, and was so benumbed that I could not feel any thing for many hours.44 With the assistance of one Dr. Brady, Gustavus recovers. However, he is immediately puzzled by the fact that any white man anywhere possesses the ability—and the legal right—to abuse him at will. He declares that America is the worst place he has ever seen in terms of the mistreatment African people are forced to endure. He and his captain then sail to Jamaica where Vassa proclaims that he witnessed the physical abuse of African men unlike anything imaginable. He says, "1 was present when a poor fellow was tied up and kept hanging by the wrists, at some distance from the ground, and then some half hundred weights were fixed to his ankles, in which posture, he was flogged most

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urimercrfully."45 Concerning another instance, he states, "[T]here was also, as I heard, two different masters, noted for cruelty on the island, who had staked up two negroes naked, and in two hours the vermin stung them to death."46 Gustavus experiences these horrors without even the possibility of voicing his concern. He is forced to accept these realities as simply the way of life for African men. Certainly such maltreatment is destructive and inhumane, but what can men do? They are definitely in no position to fight for themselves, and they know that even an attempt to do so would result in severe punishment. Therefore, in most instances, they can do nothing. As with Gustavus and Venture, life for most other enslaved African men during the 1700s was composed primarily of a festeringfrustrationwith a system dedicated to their demise, one which reminded them daily that West African manhood was gone forever. Yet the destruction of African male virility via physical abuse was only the first stage in the annihilation of the West African concept of manhood. The second stage was the displacement of enslaved African men from the home, particularly as husbands. In fact, once men married, they experienced insults so traumatic that many wished they had never become husbands, for they soon realized that their social context prevented them from fulfilling that role. Gustavus Vassa reminds readers that, back in his home community, "[S]acred among them is the honor of the marriage bed, and so jealous are [men] of the fidelity of their wives."47 Yet enslavement disrupts this sacred bond between African man and woman to such an extent that, even as a boy on the Middle Passage voyage, Gustavus wonders what men are thinking as their wives are sexually abused by white men, usually before their very eyes. He recalls that, "[T]hroughout most of the nations of Africa... adultery was sometimes punished with slavery or death."48 But once enslaved, African men are disallowed the right to punish their wives' abusers. They cannot even complain, for this would be taken as disobedience, and they would be punished accordingly. Again, much like a children, husbands watch white men exploit their wives as they wonder what the end of their horror shall be.49 Vassa reminds readers that, in West Africa, the man was the head of the family. He suggests that women understood this reality and, in fact, supported it. However, chains and fetters convinced men that their position as head of the family (or anything for that matter) had been usurped by their captors. A husband could no longer expect his wife to

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follow his lead but knew that, in fact, the man to whom she must now be ultimately committed was their captor.50 African women did not dismiss their husbands because they were unable to function as wives deemed fit. Rather, husbands deemed themselves useless because, as far as they were concerned, a West African husband who could not provide for and protect his wife was worse than an infidel. Furthermore, from the West African male perspective, what was the use of a husband whose wife could depend on him for nothing? In short, enslaved men concluded that they were husbands in name only. Vassa proclaims angrily: fl]t was almost a constant practice with our clerks, and other whites to commit violent depredations on the chastity of the female slaves; and these I was, though with reluctance, obliged to submit to at all times, being unable to help them. When we have had some of these slaves on board my master's vessels, to carry them to other islands, or to America, I have known our mates to commit these acts most shamefully, to the disgrace, not of Christians only, but of men. And yet in Montserrat I have seen a negro man staked to the ground, and cut most shockingly, and then his ears cut off bit by bit, because he had been connected with a white woman, who was a common prostitute. As if it were no crime in the whites to rob an innocent African [woman] of her virtue; but most heinous in a black man only to gratify a passion of nature, where the temptation was offered by one of a different color, though the most abandoned woman of her species.51 This double standard leads Gustavus to conclude that he is in the presence of evil white spirits unacquainted with the notion of respect. He also concludes that white men must enjoy insulting the African man's manhood, for they do it frequently, especially through their mistreatment of African women. The fact that Vassa never pursues a mate—at least not within the confines of his narrative—might suggest that he elects not to subject himself to the psychological and emotional torture of being an impotent husband. Vassa is moved to tears simply witnessing wives being abused as captors dare husbands to speak. Yet, although he is not a husband himself, his

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inability to protect or even assist enslaved African women troubles him beyond words and causes him to wonder just what kind of man he is. He recalls an experience from the West Indies: 1 had seen a black woman slave as I came through the house, who was cooking the dinner, and the poor creature was cruelly loaded with various kinds of iron machines; she had one particularly on her head, which locked her mouth so fast that she could scarcely speak; and could not eat or drink.52 He learns later that the mechanism was called an "iron muzzle." He is forced to face this woman in her misery, offering her nothing more than expressions of his desire to ease her burden. Gustavus probably avoided her whenever possible, for her physical and psychological states were reflective of his inept manhood. In fact, from where he stood, he considered white male abuse of African women to be simply another means by the captor of emasculating African men. Venture agrees. After he has been married about a year, his master, Robert Mumford, sells him to one Thomas Stanton who resides in Stonington-point, New York. Consequently, he is separated from his wife and one-month-old daughter and finds himself most miserable. Neither his old nor his new captor seems to care that Venture's family is his first priority and his primary reason for attempting to survive the horrors of enslavement. They seem not to care that Venture's wife is as important to him as their own wives are to them. But, again, in an effort not to make matters worse, Venture conceals his hurt, anger, and sadness and prays privately that he will be reunited with his family soon. His prayer is answered—after a year and a half transpires—when his current master purchases his wife and child for "seven hundred pounds old tenor."53 Readers are not told of his reaction to the event, but one can assume that he is elated, for he encourages his wife not to cross the mistress, providing her with an excuse to sell one of them and further disturb their relationship and familial strength. However, Venture is sold once again, this time to one Colonel O. Smith, who offers him the opportunity to take on outside labor in order to procure his freedom. After more than 10 years of hard labor, he says:

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[T]he amount of money which I had paid my master towards redeeming my time, was seventy-one pounds two shillings. The reason of my master for asking such an unreasonable price, was he said, to secure himself in case I should ever come to want. Being thirty-six years old, I left Colonel Smith once and for all. I had already been sold three different times, made considerable money with seemingly nothing to derive it from, been cheated out of a large sum of money, lost much by misfortunes, and paid an enormous sum for my freedom.54 If Venture sounds bitter, readers certainly know why. He has spent the majority of his good years working himself to death (literally) for freedom—that which he understood to be a gift from God. And now his primary preoccupation is how he will purchase his wife and children. He "buys" his two sons first for two hundred dollars each in order that they can then earn enough money to help purchase other family members.55 Through their joint efforts, Venture is able to purchase Meg for forty pounds. They are both 44 years old. Yet beyond the details of purchases and prices, Venture alludes to the fact that his seemingly never-ending separation from his wife is hard on both his heart and his pride. At any captor's whim, he is subject to being sold miles away from Meg and allowed to see her seldom, if at ail. That his captors do not respect his role and rights as a husband is a constant irritant to Venture, as he does all within his power to secure his relationship with his wife. And further, he must contend with the shame he feels for not being able to perform as he thinks a husband ought. He certainly does his best, yet his best falls far short of the standards known to men in his home country of Guinea. So as a husband, Venture does not rate himself very highly. During those instances when he attempts to protect Meg from unlawful onslaughts, he is reprimanded so severely that he strongly encourages her to submit her will unto the mistress's, for another attempt to protect her might prove fatal to him. And yet in those periods when he thinks himself an obedient and loyal servant, he is sold for no apparent reason and removed from his one and only love. Once he secures his freedom, he works to secure hers as well, but it costs him so much emotionally that, in the end, even though they are

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reunited, he still considers himself a basically impotent husband, one whose manhood has been proved totally ineffectual. What Venture and Vassa realize is that enslavement annihilates the African male's position and autonomy in the home. He has no authority over the traditional male spheres of influence56 and cannot expect—much less depend upon—his wife to submit herself totally and only unto him, for she—like him—must now wait on the mistress and the master for instruction. Come what may, the most he can do is hope that the captor does not sell him or his wife, putting greater strain upon an already strained relationship. However, in more than a few instances, husbands and wives were separated, and both usually did whatever necessary to be reunited, although their efforts were often very costly. Consequently, even in their union, husbands and wives were seldom at peace, for what it cost them to stay together engendered anger, frustration, and unease which made it difficult to sustain a marriage.57 Intra-personal differences which needed attention took a secondary position to social factors which threatened the viability of the union itself. Males born in West Africa and transplanted to America as slaves were forced to endure a familial displacement which, for all practical purposes, made them poor, angry, seemingly-defeated husbands. Austin Steward sijrnmarizes the feelings of African men who were forced to witness the abuse of their wives and sisters passively: The God of heaven only knows the conflict of feeling I then endured; He alone witnessed the tumult of my heart, at this outrage of manhood and kindred affection. God knows that my will was good enough to have wrung his neck; or to have drained from his heartless system its last drop of blood! And yet I was obliged to turn a deaf ear to her cries for assistance, which to this day ring in my ears. Strong and athletic as I was, no hand of mine could be raised in her defence, but at the peril of both our lives.58 Once committed to the marriage union, it seems that most enslaved men did whatever possible to protect and stay with their wives, although the efforts permitted them were minimal in light of expectations they held from their African traditions. The final avenue through which enslavement destroyed the West African concept of manhood was fatherhood. Traditionally, African men

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revered the role of father and spent great amounts of time and energy making sure children were taken care of and provided for adequately. A West African father whose children went wanting was frowned upon by community elders and others who made him a subject of ridicule. On the other hand, a father who could boast well-disciplined, respectful, healthy children was celebrated as a great man among men, one who could be expected to fight for his children at any cost. But enslavement made it practically impossible for African men to fulfill their roles as fathers, as it had prevented them from fulfilling their roles as husband. Gustavus Vassa notes that, along the Middle Passage, fathers were forced to witness their children's abuse without any means of retaliation. And worse, the abuse was often of a severity most would consider savage. Says he, "1 have known the mates to...gratify their brutal passion with females not ten years old; and these abominations, some of them practiced to such scandalous excess, that one of our captains discharged the mate and others on that account."59 The humiliation and worthlessness West African fathers surely experienced during such criminal moments undoubtedly led them to begin calculating the most effective and efficient way to avenge the exploitation of their offspring. Unfortunately, however, most were never in the position to do so, and, therefore, they could offer abused children little more than occasional comfort and expressions of their desire to assist them. Another tragedy fathers sustained was the loss of their right to usher sons into manhood. Vassa notes that, in his home country of Benin, male children spent the majority of their days with their fathers. They were not confused as to what it meant to be a man and understood quite clearly what was expected of them in terms of their role in the community. Fathers (and mothers) assured as much. Yet, in America, enslaved fathers could assure their sons of very little, and, actually, were sure of very little themselves. Enslaved fathers were often forced to watch as children starved to death or died of malnutrition.60 Certainly this tragedy could not be attributed to some paternal negligence, yet fathers still blamed themselves, for, in the end, they held themselves responsible for the well-being of their children. So black men were again humiliated and displaced in their families, for what they perceive to be their role as a father, they are prevented from fulfilling. They could not depend upon ritual or rites of passage to assist their efforts in turning sons into men because these cultural realities had long disappeared. In fact, they were outlawed.61 Consequently, fathers could do little more than

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hope that sons would evolve into proud, virile African men who would fight to the death for the preservation of themselves and their people. At times, enslaved fathers suffered a tragedy of a different nature. Vassa recalls numerous occasions when captors and overseers lashed pregnant women so severely that they lost their children or, as a means of punishing women, murdered their children immediately after their birth.62 To be sure, this practice served as "punishment" to fathers, too. Remember that, particularly where boys were concerned, it was the father's responsibility to introduce the baby to the "male world" to ensure his healthy maturation as a man of the community.63 Gustavus tells readers that West African fathers viewed sons as extensions of themselves—those who would further thenlegacy and add power and prestige to the family name. So when captors exploited pregnant wives and destroyed their children, fathers surely saw this act as a means of their own destruction. That husbands could afford their wives no protection was sufficient insult to convince men that their manhood had been robbed by their oppressor. But then to be robbed of the opportunity to be a father, especially when the child was already on its way, undoubtedly confirmed to enslaved men that manhood as they defined it was a thing of the past. Vassa asks vehemently, "[A]re slaves more useful by being thus humbled to the condition of brutes, than they would be if suffered to enjoy the privileges of men?"64 He states: When you make men slaves, you deprive them of half their virtue, you set them, in your own conduct, an example of fraud, rapine and cruelty, and compel them to live with you in a state of war; and yet you complain that they are not honest or faithful! You stupefy them with stripes, and think it necessary to keep them in a state of ignorance. And yet you assert that they are incapable of learning; that their minds are such a barren soil or moor that culture would be lost on them, and that they come from a climate, where nature, though prodigal of her bounties in a degree unknown to yourselves, has left man alone scant and unfinished, and incapable of enjoying the treasures she has poured out for him!65 Vassa then offers the following caveat in the form of a poem:

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When no peace is given To us enslav'd, but custody severe, And stripes and arbitrary punishment Inflicted—What peace can we return? But to our power, hostility and hate; Untam'd reluctance, and revenge, though slow. Yet ever plotting how the conqueror least May reap his conquest, and may least rejoice In doing what we most in suffering feel.66 His anger is certainly not solely his own. Any man born in West Africa and brought to America in chains could easily have identified with Vassa's sentiments and corroborated the truth of his experiences, especially concerning physical abuse and familial displacement, for, with few exceptions, most lived similar lives and sustained the destruction of their manhood to similar degrees. This is certainly true of Venture Smith who, as a father, deems himself a total failure. He is never allowed to spend any quality time with his children and regrets that his sons do not know the traditions of their forefathers. Yet once he purchases his freedom, his optimism returns concerning his ability to fulfill the role of father as he understands it. As I mentioned earlier, he works for a number of years and first purchases his two sons, Solomon and Cuff, whom he hopes will then work to help purchase other family members. But Venture's plan goes awry, as he relates: Solomon my eldest son, bemg then in his seventeenth year, and all my hope and dependence for help, i hired him out to one Charles Church, of Rhode Island, for one year, on consideration of his giving him twelve pounds and an opportunity of acquiring some learning. In the course of the year, Church fitted out a vessel for a whaling voyage, and being in want of hands to man her, he induced my son to go, with the promise of giving him, on his return, a pair of silver buckles, besides his wages. As soon as J heard of his going to sea, I immediately set out to go and prevent it if possible.~ But on my arrival at Church's, to my great grief, I could only see the vessel my son was in almost out of sight going to sea. My son

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Dismantling Black Manhood died of scurvy in this voyage, and Church has never yet paid me the least of his wages.67 (p. 554)

From Venture's perspective, Church treats Solomon's death as little more than a daily misfortune. Yet to Venture, the death of his eldest son was also the death of a part of himself. Solomon was the one in whom Venture invested the hope that, together, they would reclaim their family from the bonds of slavery and show themselves to be men. However, Solomon's death retards Venture's progress and heightens his frustration both with himself and with the system of slavery, almost to the point of intolerance. He continues on his mission, nevertheless, stating proudly after years of hard labor that "I had redeemed from slavery myself, my wife and three children, besides three negro men."68 He is yet discontent, however, for he thinks that, as a father, he has been totally ineffectual. His children know little to nothing about the strong people from whom they emerged, for he was never allowed the opportunity to steep them in their history and lore. For the most part, he was preoccupied with praying that they would survive and not be sold away from him and Meg. And when his oldest child, Hannah, dies, he endures humiliation as a father which he never seems to overcome. Hannah marries (shortly after he purchases herfreedom)one Isaac, "a free negro," who Venture describes as "a dissolute and abandoned wretch." She becomes ill immediately thereafter and, in Venture's estimation, Isaac "paid little attention to her in her illness."69 Consequently, Venture brings Hannah back home and hires the best physicians in the area to nurse her back to health. Unfortunately, however, she dies, and Venture's pride as a father is wounded severely. While thinking of this and other tragedies of his life, he notes sadly: I am now sixty-nine years old. Though once strait and tall, measuring without shoes six feet one inch and an half, and every way well proportioned, I am now bowed down with age and hardship. My strength which was once equal if not superior to any man whom I have ever seen, is now enfeebled so that life is a burden, and it is with fatigue that I can walk a couple of miles, stooping over my staff.70

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Yet it seems that Venture's inability to usher his sons into manhood (as he understands the concept) is the worst of his tragedies. Because of the confinements of enslavement, he was simply unable to rear his boys in the male tradition of the people of Guinea. Worse still, Venture was not even allowed to spend sufficient time with his sons such that they, simply through his living example, might get a glimpse of what it meant to be a West African man. So, in Venture's self-evaluation, he grades himself poorly in the area of fathering. Regardless of the confinements the institution of slavery imposed on black fatherhood, he still considers his sons' development his responsibility. And when, as fate would have it, they do not mature as Venture would have liked, he endures a grief which practically overwhelms him. Angrily, he closes his narrative with the following statement: While I am now looking to the grave as my home, my joy for this world would be full—IF my children, Cuff for whom I paid two hundred dollars when a boy, and Solomon who was born soon after I purchased his mother—if Cuff and Solomon—O! that they had walked in the way of their father. But a father's lips are closed in silence and in grief!71 The distortion of the enslaved West African male's role as father could explain, at least partially, why African American men still struggle with the notion of manhood today. Enslaved fathers did not have the time—or the cultural resources—to teach sons the meaning and function of manhood, for survival became the major motif in their lives, the thing with which fathers were primarily concerned. Rearing boys to be men in the traditional sense was put aside temporarily as fathers tried simply to teach boys how to "make it in the white man's world." Yet, because mastering the latter often takes a lifetime, fathers never got back to training boys to be men. Therefore, what black sons learned to value most was not the extent to which they understood the meaning and function of manhood, especially as it pertained to being a good husband and father, but how well they had mastered the art of survival. In other words, manhood became an individual pursuit to black men as opposed to a communal, familial male ideal. This was to be expected, for, on the plantation, the African male's attention and focus shifted from the home to the external hostility he was forced to battle daily. Consequently, his idea of manhood also shifted from

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his role as husband and father to his ability to combat and coexist with those social forces which threatened his existence. And unfortunately, to date, the black male in America has been unable to shift his focus back to the home, primarily because the social evils which plagued his father and grandfather from the beginning of the African saga in America still plague black men today, namely their inability to secure the resources they deem necessary to function as viable men in a community. But, over time, those resources became more than tangible goods. Once rooted in the American system of enslavement, African men lost a sense of what it meant to be important. They wanted to be esteemed for their physical and familial performance, although enslavement disallowed them such honor. Yet they knew no concept of manhood other than the one which accompanied them here, when they were not allowed to be men as they defined the concept, they concluded that their manhood had necessarily vanished. In other words, West African men arrived in America with a very explicit idea of what it meant to be a man, and when enslavement forced them to exist outside of that cultural standard, they suffered a degradation only they could understand. Finally, while in the presence of Europeans, Gustavus and Venture assume an inferiority complex which certainly affects their idea of what it means to be a man in America. Gustavus remembers that, while yet a child, he and his captor sailed to Guernsey where he became the playmate of a six year old European girl. He writes: I had often observed that when her mother washed her face it looked very rosy, but when she washed mine it did not look so. I therefore tried oftentimes myself if 1 could not by washing make my face of the same color as my little play-mate, (Mary,) but it was all in vain; and I now began to be mortified at the difference in our complexions.72 Gustavus is mortified not simply because his complexion is different from Mary's, but because her whiteness and all the privileges it affords lead him to believe that her complexion is actually better—or certainly more desirable—than his. As a child, he seeks association with the master class while being relegated, by virtue of his color, to the status of slave. As he matures, he realizes that he will never be able to escape his complexion and

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its accompanying struggles, but he never seems to relinquish the desire to become one of "them." This is not surprising, however, for the oppressed usually seek to emulate the oppressor.73 And once Gustavus masters spoken English, his desire to co-exist with Europeans increases. Speaking here of his childhood experience, he states: 1 have often reflected with surprise that I never felt half the alarm at any of the numerous dangers 1 have been in, that 1 was filled with at the first sight of the Europeans, and at every act of theirs, even the most trifling, when I first came among them, and for some time afterwards. That fear, however, which was the effect of my ignorance, wore away as I began to know them. I could now speak English tolerably well, and I perfectly understood everything that was said. I not only felt myself quite easy with these new countrymen, but relished their society and manners. I no longer looked upon them as spirits, but as men superior to us; and therefore I had the stronger desire to resemble them, to imbibe their spirit, and imitate their manners.74 And, to some extent, he does imitate their manners, especially when he learns to read and write in the Western convention. But his status as an African denies him the opportunity to enjoy life as "they" do; consequently, as he enters adulthood, he loses the hope of ever being like Europeans, although he retains the desire to be a man in terms similar to those of white men. Once he realizes that enslavement will allow him neither wish, he turns to God as his only refuge, as the One before whom he need not attempt to prove his manhood. However, because he now speaks English and exists solely within a European cultural sphere, his medium for spiritual communication with God is Christianity. His conversion is made easy by the fact that, as he says, "1 was wonderfully surprised to see the laws and rules of my own country written almost exactly {in the Bible}; a circumstance which I believe tended to impress our manners and customs more deeply on my memory."75 So once Gustavus becomes an adult, he concludes that his only true source of peace is Providence and that his manhood, if not recognized on earth, is certainly recognized above.

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Venture also endures a psychological transformation, although, unlike Gustavus, the evidence of his inferiority complex surfaces in his old age. After working for years to secure the physical freedom of his family, Venture becomes pessimistic about what it means to be an African male in America. For although he sees thefruitof his labor, he knows that, had he been a white male, his efforts would have yielded a return triple to that which he received. He recalls a specific incident in which he felt forced to swallow the reality that, in America, to be white was better than to be African: Being going to New London with a grandchild, I took passage in an Indian's boat, and went there with him. On our return, the Indian took on board two hogsheads of molasses, one of which belonged to Capt. Elisha Hart, to be delivered on his wharf. When we arrived there, and while I was gone, one hogshead of the molasses had been lost overboard by the people in attempting to land it on the wharf. Although I was absent at the time, and had no concern whatever in the business, as was known to a number of respectable witnesses, I was nevertheless prosecuted by this conscientious gentleman and obliged to pay upwards often pounds lawful money, with all the costs of court... Such a proceeding as this, committed on a defenseless stranger, almost worn out in the hard service of the world, without any foundation in reason or justice, whatever it may be called in a Christian land, would in my native country have been branded as a crime equal to highway robbery. But Captain Hart was a white gentleman, and I a poor African, therefore it was all right, and good enough for the black dog.76 Venture realizes that, even in his freedom, America still sees him as a slave. The laws which protect the rights and privileges of white men do nothing on his behalf except convince him that he will never be free. Consequently, as death approaches, he welcomes Him as a personal escort back to the land his fathers knew, back to the place where his manhood would go uncontested. Once this generation of men expired, the West African concept of manhood, in its purest form, expired in America, too. Enslaved men could no longer depend upon a language, context, or shared sensibility to reinforce their idea of what it meant to be a man. These realities were now history. In fact, once bought and transplanted throughout the diaspora, African men

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were forced to relinquish various aspects of their notion of manhood, for it hindered their captors' ability to control them. Unfortunately, it was at this point in history that African men began to assume-though often subconsciously—many of the captor's ways and beliefs, for he possessed both the respect and the socioeconomic goods whereby his manhood was recognized by all. So, in a very real sense, first-generation African men in America stood in an interstitial space on the plantation; that is to say, they were no longer fully African, nor were they recognized as American. And what would become of their sons who, though biologically African, possessed no lived experiences of West Africa or her cultural reality? Certainly their idea of manhood would resemble their fathers', although it would necessarily be different as well. The succeeding chapter shall tell us how.

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1. Dr. Molefi Asante speaks of the significance of a person's cultural "location," or the place in which he stands as he views the world. For a more complete understanding of this concept, consult his text Kernel, Afrocentricity, and Knowledge (Trenton, New Jersey: Africa World Press Inc., 1990). 2. In Black is the Color of the Cosmos, Charles T. Davis speaks of the idea of the white man as "The Man" and what this mental perception has meant for black men in America. He explores the reality particularly as it relates to the trickster tradition and examines the various ways black men have learned to circumvent the wrath of "The Man." 3. Na'im Akbar, Chains and Images of Psychological Slavery (Jersey City, New Jersey: New Mind Productions, 1984), 12. 4. For more insight into this issue, see The Slave's Narrative, edited by Charles Davis and Henry Louis Gates, Jr. (New York: Oxford University Press, 1985) or Marion Wilson Starling's The Slave Narrative (Washington, D.C.: Howard University Press, 1988). 5. Venture Smith, A Narrative of the Life and Adventures of Venture, A Native of Africa: But Resident Above Sixty Years in the United States of America (1798) in Early Negro Writing 1760-1837 edited by Dorothy Porter (Boston: Beacon Press, 1971). 6. Olaudah Equiano, The Interesting Narrative of the Life ofOlaudah Equiano or Gustavus Vassa the African, Written by Himself (London: 1789). All references are taken from the 1837 edition, 8. 7. Historians tend to agree that the modification of slaves' narratives by white abolitionists did not really begin until the 1830s or thereabout. See chapter 3 of Marion Wilson Starling's The Slave Narrative or the introduction to Puttin' On Ole Massa (New York: Harper and Row, 1969). 8. Monthly Review Vol. 80 (June 1789), 551-2. Cited in The Slave's Narrative, edited by Charles T. Davis and Henry Louis Gates, Jr. (New York: Oxford University Press, 1985), 5. 9. Venture Smith, The Life and Adventures of Venture, 539. 10. Ibid., 543. 11. Gustavus Vassa, The Life ofOlaudah Equiano or Gustavus Vassa, 9& 10.

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12. Valerie Smith, Self-Discovery and Authority in Afro-American Narrative (Cambridge, Massachusetts: Harvard University Press, 1987), 18. 13. For an in-depth comparison of African and European cosmology, epistemology, and ontology, see V.Y. Mudimbe's The Invention of Africa (Bloomington, Indiana: Indiana University Press, 1988). 14. Vassa, The Interesting Narrative, 3 1. 15. Ibid., 23. 16. Smith, The Life and Adventures of Venture, 541. 17. Vassa, The Interesting Narrative, 22. 18. Ibid., 23. 19. Ibid., 56. 20. Smith, The Life and Adventures of Venture, 539. 21. Ibid., 545. 22. For a full-length discussion of this phenomenon, see the chapter entitled "The Naming of Cats" in Eugene Genovese's Roll, Jordon, Roll (New York: Vintage Books, 1976). 23. Narrative of William Wells Brown, 43, cited in Genovese's Roll, Jordon, Roll, 445. 24. Ibid. 25. Alex Haley, Roots (New York: Doubleday, 1976), 214. 26. Genovese, Roll, Jordon, Roll, 445-6. 27. Richard Majors, Cool Pose (New York: Lexington Books, 1992) ,3. 28. Smith, The Life and Adventures of Venture, 547. 29. Ibid. 30. Ibid. 3 1. Vassa, The Interesting Narrative, 44 & 45. 32. Ibid. 33. Ibid. 34. Ibid., 38. 35. Ibid., 56 & 57. 36. Akbar explores this issue in some detail in part two of Chains and Images, entitled "Racial Religious Imagery and Psychological Confusion." 37. Akbar, Chains and Images, 2. 38. Smith, The Life and Adventures, 550. 39. Ibid. 40. Vassa, The Interesting Narrative, 119.

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41. rbid., 119-20. 42. [bid., 106. 43. Ibid., 151. 44. Ibid. 45. Ibid., 208. 46. Ibid. 47. Tbid., 10. 48. Ibid. 49. In her article "Rape and the Inner Lives of Black Women in the Middle West: Preliminary Thoughts on the Culture of Dissemblance," Darlene Clark Hine says correctly that "until quite recently, when historians talked of rape in the slavery experience they often bemoaned the damage this act did to the black male's sense of esteem and respect. He was powerless to protect his woman from white rapists. Few scholars probed the effect that rape, the threat of rape, and domestic violence had on the psychic development of the female victims." I certainly do not wish to fall victim to this error as I speak of the effects of enslavement on black husbands. However, since the focus of this research design is men and manhood, I trust that readers will understand why I focus on the effects of rape on men instead of on women, although I do not wish to suggest that the raping of women was somehow more psychologically detrimental for men for than it was for women. The article was originally published in Signs 14, Summer 1989. 50. John W. Blassingame, The Slave Community (New York: Oxford University Press, 1979), 172. 51. Vassa, The Interesting Narrative, 116. 52. Ibid., 54. 53. Smith, The Life and Adventures of Venture, 548. 54. Ibid., 553. 55. Venture believes thai his sons' earning potential is greater than either his wife's or his daughter's; hence, he "buys" the boys first in order that the others can be purchased more quickly. This is important to note, for, otherwise, some may interpret Venture's actions as his belief thai it is more important for men to be free than for women. See page 554 of his narrative. 56. Paula Giddings, When and Where I Enter (Mew York: Morrow 1984), 72.

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Manhood

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57. See chapter 4 of Blassingame's The Slave Community entitled "The Slave Family." 58. Austin Steward, Twenty-Two Years a Slave, and Forty Years a Freeman (Rochester, N.Y., 186!), 97, cited in Blassingame's The Slave Community, 187 59 Vassa, The Interesting Narrative, 116. 60. See chapter 9 of Orville W. Taylor's Negro Slavery in Arkansas (Durham, N.C.: Duke University Press, 1958). 61. See chapters 1 and 2 of Blassingame's The Slave Community. 62. Vassa, The Interesting Narrative, 111. 63. Refer to chapter 2 for the details of this phenomenon. 64. Vassa, The Interesting Narrative, 126. 65. Ibid. 66. Ibid., 127. 67. Smith, The Life and Adventures of Venture, 554. 68. Ibid., 555. 69. Ibid. 70. Ibid., 557. 71. Ibid., 558. 72. Vassa, The Interesting Narrative, 63. 73. For more discussion of the psychology of the oppressed, see Franz Fanon, The Wretched of the Earth (New York: Grove Press, 1963). 74. Vassa, The Interesting Narrative, 16. 75. Ibid., 97. 76. Smith, The Life and Adventures of Venture, 557.

V The Concept of Manhood and the Enslaved African American Male Once first-generation enslaved Africans in America died, the African American slave was born. In other words, those Africans captured and brought to America in chains saw themselves merely as captives, having consciously decided that they would be African until their death and that the prospect of recapturing life as they once knew it was always a possibility. Yet after years of miscegenation, loss of hope, inhumane flogging, social stagnation, and cultural transformation, the grandchildren of Toundi and Kamau concluded that they were in America to stay. It was their home. They undoubtedly knew of Africa and the existence of their foreparents there, but only in a mythical sense. They now spoke English, practiced monogamy (for the most part), and upheld a religious theology which spoke to their particular experiences in America.l So by the 19th century, the enslaved African had become the enslaved African American. The content of slave narratives suggests that, after more than two centuries of bondage, enslaved Africans grew to accept the notion that the institution of slavery set the parameters for their life-time possibilities. Even free blacks, including those who had escaped the "peculiar institution," lived their lives with the belief that, whether bond or free, black life was always at the mercy of white folks. And it was. Yet to accept this premise, not as an evil to be surmounted, but simply as an aspect of black existence in America, meant that early enslaved African Americans embraced-although subconsciously—Euro-American ideas and ideals, such that their existence as "captives" was eventually replaced by their status as "slaves," defined here as those who eventually accepted—again, subconsciously—their bondage to be their way of life and who saw themselves 99

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always in relation to their captor. Most enslaved black men of the 19th century certainly fit into the category of "slave." Although there were numerous exceptions, black male slave narratives confirm that most enslaved black men used their white captor as the standard of manhood to which they aspired. Although the black male concept of manhood was heavily rooted in West African tradition, the extent to which black men sought the privileges of white men influenced to an astonishing degree their assuming the extreme patnarchal notions of manhood demonstrated by their captors. It is not surprising, however, for black men desired to be their captor's equal. Consequently, the white man and his world, especially his perception of men and manhood, became the yardstick by which black men began to measure their own manhood. In Black Looks, Bell Hooks observes: "Transplanted African men, even those who were comingfromcultures where sex roles shaped the division of labor, where the status of men was different and most often higher than that of women, had imposed on them the white colonizer's notions of manhood and masculinity."2 She notes further that "although the gendered politics of slavery denied black men the freedom to act as "men" within the definition set by white norms, this notion of manhood did become a standard used to measure Black male progress."3 In Hooks' understanding, the white male's notion of manhood was nothing less than full-blown patriarchy. Yet to assert that patriarchy was at the core of the Euro-American male concept of manhood, while implying that African men only became patriarchal once they encountered white men is erroneous. To be sure, African men were patriarchal long before they ever lefi home. This is why they assumed the captor's notions of manhood so readily White men were definitely more destructively and tyrannically patriarchal than most African men had probably ever been; yet the ideas of male dominance, power, and control were well-established aspects of the West African concept of manhood centuries before the European ever arrived in Africa. And yet the extent to which the enslaved African American male concept o[ manhood was informed by a white male sensibility is of lesser importance here than the outcome of that effect, namely the fact that "the image of black masculinity that emerges from slave narratives is one of hard-workmg men who longed to assume full patriarchal responsibility for families and kin." Enslavement, however, denied them this right, hi fact,

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captors and accompanying Euro-American social, economic, and political constructs denied enslaved black men any notion of manhood, regardless of how they defined it. Nineteenth century black male slave narratives chronicle how black men felt when denied the privileges of manhood and the opportunity to be men as they desired. The aim of this chapter is to examine, via Narrative of the Life and Adventures of Henry Bihh, an American Slave (1849) and Twelve Years a Slave: Narrative of Solomon Northup (1853), the 19th century black male perception of manhood and the difficulties encountered in its pursuit once the enslaved African male became the enslaved African American male. Like their literary harbingers Gustavus Vassa and Venture Smith, Henry Bibb and Solomon Northup are both careful to address the issue of the authenticity of their work. They assure readers that, although their tales might seem rather fantastic, they include nothing but the honest truth. About his autobiography, Solomon Northup declares, "This is no fiction, no exaggeration. If I have failed in anything, it has been in presenting to the reader too prominently the bright side of the picture."4 At times, he consciously omits various experiences and details, believing them to be entirely unbelievable to anyone who did not encounter them first-hand. He presents the following statement as the thesis of his narrative: "My object is, to give a candid and truthful statement of facts: to repeat the story of my life, without exaggeration, leaving it for others to determine, whether even the pages of fiction present a picture of more cruel wrong or a severer bondage."5 He seems to want readers to accept the truth of his story, not simply because he wrote it, but primarily because it depicts a bondage he and his people have had to endure for generations, and he wants the world Lo recognize the evil of slavery, thereby supporting its demise. Henry Bibb also proclaims that his narrative contains only truth, in fact, he suggests that every word can be corroborated by someone and, therefore, should be taken as pure truth, and he goes a step further than Northup in his attempt to convince readers that his story is, in fact, authentic. He cites the following letter, written on his behalf by a white gentleman to the committee investigating the truth of his narrative, knowing that the words of a white man would be taken as truth long before his own:

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Dismantling Black Manhood Maumee City, April 5, 1845 Chas. H. Stewart, ESQ. Dear Sir:—In reply to your letter respecting Henry Bibb, I can only say that about the year 1838 I became acquainted with him at Perrysburgh—employed him to do some work by the job which he performed well, and from his apparent honesty and candor, I became much interested in him. About that time he went South for the purpose, as was said, of getting his wife, who was there in slavery. In the spring of 1841,1 found him at Portsmouth on the Ohio River, and after much persuasion, employed him to assist my man to drive home some horses and cattle which I was about purchasing near Maysville, Ky. My confidence in him was such that when about half way home I separated the horses from the cattle, and left him with the latter, with money and instructions to hire what help he wanted to get to Perrysburgh. This he accomplished to my entire satisfaction...! have heard his story and must say that I have not the least reason to suspect it being otherwise than true, and furthermore, I firmly believe, and have for a long time, that he has the foundation to make himself useful. I shall always afford him all the facilities in my power to assist him, until I hear of something in relation to him to alter my mind. Yours in the cause of truth. J.W. Smith6

Bibb trusts that Mr. Smith's words will be honored by readers as he reconstructs his life on the page in order that others know of the vicissitudes of life he and other black men sustained during 19th century American enslavement. An aiticle which appeared in the Anti-Slavery Bugle in November of 1849 had this to say about Bibb's work: We believe this to be an unvarnished tale, giving a true picture of slavery, in all its features, good, bad and indifferent, if it has so many. The book is written with perfect artlessness, and the man

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who can read it unmoved must be fit for treasons, stratagems and spoils.7 So it seems that the authenticity of Bibb's (and Northup's) narratives go unquestioned.8 First striking about these works, especially when compared to those of the previous chapter, is that both their authors perceive slavery to be the permanent condition of black people in America, whereas neither Vassa nor Smith ever accepted enslavement as simply "their way of life." The fact that Bibb and Northup were born and reared in America—a country where, from the moment of their entry into the world, they saw Africans oppressed and kept under subjugation via enslavement—certainly led them to believe that, regardless of their efforts, they would never be able to exist totally outside of the white man's grip. Bibb declares: A slave may be bought and sold in the market like an ox. He is liable to be sold off to a distant land from him family. He is bound in chains hand and foot; and his sufferings are aggravated a hundred fold, by the terrible thought, that he is not allowed to struggle against misfortune, corporal punishment, insults and outrages committed upon himself and family; and he is not allowed to help himself, to resist or escape the blow, which he sees impending over him.9 He then says, "This idea of utter helplessness, in perpetual bondage, is the more distressing, as there is no period even with the remotest generation when it shall terminate.''10 With this belief, Bibb concludes, "I must be a slave for life, and suffer under the lash or die."31 He sees only two possibilities for his existence as a black male in America—slavery or death. Solomon Northup's belief in the permanency of black enslavement is based not so much on the reality of slavery itself as on his belief that the black man means nothing to the white man and, therefore, will never be afforded the goods he enjoys. Northup notes: [The white man] looked upon the black man simply as an animal, differing in no respect from any other animal, save in the gift of speech and the possession of somewhat higher instincts, and

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Dismantling Black Manhood therefore, the more valuable. To work like his father's mules—to be whipped and kicked and scourged through life—to address the white man with hat in hand, and eyes bent servilely on the earth, in his mind, was the natural and proper destiny of the slave.12

Unfortunately, Northup appears to define himself and his people within the confines of this master-slave relationship, and although he hates it, he understands black manhood to be subject to the same dynamic. As one born into oppression, he is unable to separate his state or his condition from his being or his essence. Consequently, as his narrative unfolds, he speaks of manhood always in relation to what the captor would or would not allow. Yet, keeping the West African concept of manhood in mind, this is to be expected, for manhood as Africans traditionally understood it was rooted not in a male's self-perception but in his performance. So when white men disallowed black men the opportunity to "perform," black men understood the act as the white man "stealing their manhood." And unfortunately, this robbery occurred so often and for so long that, by the time Northup and Bibb entered the American stage in the mid 1800s, black men were convinced that their subordination to white men was a reality every brother must endure. Most significant about Bibb's and Northup's narrative is that both men define the concept of manhood much like their African forefathers did.13 More specifically, both lament the denial of their physical prowess, decry the humiliation they sustain as husbands, and regret that they are unable to fulfill the role of father as they would desire. These three aspects of their existence on the plantation kept them in constant prayer to God that he would right the world's wrong and grant them the freedom they knew to be theirs by birth. Actually, the hope was that God would intervene on their behalf and speed up the day when they could stand and embrace manhood fully. Unfortunately, however, Bibb and Northup never enjoyed the fruits of that hope. The first aspect of plantation life which retarded their progression towards manhood was the physical abuse they encountered. Henry Bibb begins his narrative by declaring: I was brought up in the counties of Shelby, Henry, Oldham and Trimble. Or, more correctly speaking, in the above counties, I may safely say, I was flogged up\ for where I should have received moral, mental, and religious instruction, 1 received stripes without

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number, the object of which was to degrade and keep me in subordination.14 From childhood, Bibb was so well acquainted with the whip that, although the maltreatment angered him fiercely, it did not traumatize him to the same extent it did his African-born forefathers. He matures understanding the whip to be the symbol of white male authority over him and, to some extent, he respects the power it represents. Yet he never comes to accept maltreatment and abuse as morally right. In fact, each time he is beaten, he becomes incensed that his humanity means nothing to his captor. His narrative is replete with experiences wherein Bibb finds himself wondering if he will ever know manhood, for he is literally beaten down so often that his worth and value as a husband and father dwindle in his mind practically to nothing. As a young man, Bibb attempts on one occasion to escape the plantation of Deacon Francis Whitfield, a man whose reputation as a brutal slaveholder precedes him. The attempt fails, however, when Bibb is captured by Whitfield's overseer. He is brought back to the plantation and flogged mercilessly. He recalls the ordeal as follows: [The deacon] ordered that the field hands should be called together to witness my punishment, that it might serve as a caution to them...My clothing was stripped off and I was compelled to lie down on the ground with my face to the earth. Four stakes were driven in the ground, to which my hands and feet were tied. Then the overseer stood over me with the lash and laid on according to the Deacon's order...After I was marked from my neck to my heels, the Deacon took the gory lash, and said he thought there was a spot on my back yet where he could put in a few more. He wanted to give me something to remember him by, he said. After I was flogged almost to death in this way, a paddle was brought forward and eight or ten blows given me with it, which was by far worse than the lash...I was so badly punished that I was not able to work for several days. After being flogged, they took me off several miles to a ship and had a heavy iron collar riveted on my neck with prongs extending above my head, on the end of which there was a small bell. The heavy iron I was compelled to wear for

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Dismantling Black Manhood six weeks. I never was allowed to lie in the same house with my family again while I was a slave of Whitfield.15

The rage Bibb attempts to subdue as a result of such inhumane treatment would probably overcome most black men today. He does not retaliate because such actions would surely result in his death. He is forced simply to swallow this humiliation as evidence of what happens to a black man when he defies a white man. As V.P. Franklin notes in Black Self Determination, "[T]he rule-of-thumb was: Let the lowest white man count more than the highest negro."16 The witnessing of this spectacle by the plantation's entire slave community undoubtedly reinforced the rage it engendered, for Bibb also had to contend with being belittled and defamed publicly. When Whitfield stripped him of his clothing, he also stripped him of his pride and his manhood, a reality not soon forgotten by Bibb due to the ringing of the bells around his neck. Solomon Northup was also well-acquainted with the whip. He was bora a free man in New York and kidnapped into slavery as a young adult. The experience was traumatizing for him, as he was forced to leave his wife and three children behind without ever having had the opportunity to say good bye. Needless to say, he fights against his captors, proclaiming all the while that he is not a slave but a freeman born in a free state. Yet the white men fight against him even more fiercely. They declare that he now belongs to them and that il would behoove him to "keep his mouth shut" as they transport him south. Northup refuses to acquiesce and consequently endures a flogging he never forgets: Blow after blow was inflicted upon my naked body. When his unrelenting arm grew tired, he stopped and asked if I still insisted I was a free man. I did insist upon it, and then the blows were renewed, faster and more energetically, if possible, than before. When again tired, he would repeat the same question, and receiving the same answer, continue his cruel labor. All this time, the incarnate devil was uttering most fiendish oaths. At length the paddle broke, leaving the useless handle in his hand. Still 1 would not yield. All his brutal blows could not force from my lips the foul lie that 1 was a slave.17

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Northup was determined to retain his sense offreedomif only within himself. He had resolved never to submit to the white man, for he was a "free" black man—not an enslaved one like his brethren in the South. And even though he was now about to experience plantation existence, he refused to accept slavery as his own personal reality. Had he met Venture Smith, Northup might have been told the consequences of disobeying a white man in America, whether bond or free. He might have been informed that "the free colored person [like the slave] was never to forget his servitude whenever a white man was near."18 But having been born in a free state, Northup was naive to the survival mechanisms black men in the south had used for years when in the presence of whites. So his white captors took it upon themselves to teach him that, as far as they were concerned, he was nothing more than a black boy who needed the discipline and "guidance" of "others" to make sure he matured with the "correct" understanding of black and white in America. Continuing his description of the flogging, Northup says: Casting madly on the floor the handle of the broken paddle, he seized the rope. This was far more painful than the other. I struggled with all my power, but it was in vain. I prayed for mercy, but my prayer was only answered with imprecations and with stripes. I thought I must die beneath the lashed of the accursed brute. Even now the flesh crawls upon my bones, as I recall the scene. I was all onfire.My sufferings I can compare to nothing else than the burning agonies of hell! At last I became silent to his repeated questions...A man with a particle of mercy in his soul would not have beaten even a dog so cruelly.19 This moment illustrates to Northup that what captors were ultimately attempting to do was to "break the black male's spirit."20 He has great difficulty understanding how white men live with themselves after treating black people the way they do. He had not learned yet that whites do not consider him human. But he would learn soon enough. What he knew at this juncture was that he had been bought by white slave traders, who rob him of his agency and his self-respect. Unfortunately, his life worsens once he enters the plantation community. Like other black men, he is afforded no opportunity to display his virility other than as a sexual being. Physical abuse becomes so common to him that,

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after a while, 20 or 30 lashes mean nothing. In fact, most black men would have thanked God for such mercy. Northup teaches readers that, by the time he becomes acquainted with bondage, physical abuse of African men had become a white male tradition with rules and regulations as to how and why punishment was to be meted out: The number of lashes is graduated according to the nature of the case. Twenty-five are deemed a mere brush, inflicted, for instance, when a dry leaf or piece of boll is found in the cotton, or when a branch is broken in the field; fifty is the ordinary penalty following all delinquencies of the next higher grade; one hundred is called severe: it is the punishment inflicted for the serious offence of standing idle in the field;fromone hundred and fifty to two hundred is bestowed upon him who quarrels with his cabin-mates, and five hundred, well laid on, besides the mangling of the dogs, perhaps is certain to consign the poor, unpitied runaway to weeks of pain and agony.21 Maltreatment was not only an aspect of Northup's personal narrative but, by the mid 1800s, it had become an integral part of the meaning of slavery itself. In other words, enslaved African Americans—especially men—knew that, at some point m their lives, they would meet the whip.22 It was to be expected. They need not do anything "wrong" to merit the captor's lash upon their backs. They only needed to be black and enslaved, and most African American men of the era met those qualifications. So once Northup becomes inducted into plantation living, the beatings he and other black men receive for the most trivial of offenses cease to amaze him. He begins to conclude that whites are evil at the core of their being and, therefore, abuse black people simply because it is in their nature to do so. Further, Northup decides that the resulting degradation, sustained before family and community, undoubtedly appeased the captor's spirit by convincing him that he had been successful in keeping Northup and other male property sufficiently removed from any semblance of manhood. Yet like Venture Smith, Northup eventually expends his tolerance and resolves never to be beaten again, "let the result be life or death."23 He is sold to one John M Tibeats in 1842 for four hundred dollars, and upon his first day with him, Northup is challenged to make good of his resolution. About Tibeats he

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says, "He was my master, entitled by law to my flesh and blood, and to exercise over me such tyrannical control as his mean nature prompted; but there was no law that could prevent my looking upon him with intense contempt."24 And soon that contempt turned to rage and uncontrollable hatred. Tibeats attempts to lash Northup for some insignificant matter and, although nervous about the outcome, Northup keeps his promise to himself. He says: He sprang upon me, seizing me by the throat with one hand, raising the whip with the other, in the act of striking. Before the blow descended, however, 1 had caught him by the collar of the coat, and drawn him closely to me. Reaching down, I seized him by the ankle, and pushing him back with the other hand, he fell over on the ground. Putting one arm around his leg, and holding it to my breast, so that his head and shoulders only touched the ground, 1 placed my foot upon his neck. He was completely in my power. My blood was up. it seemed to course through my veins like fire. In the frenzy of my madness 1 snatched the whip from his hand. He struggled with all his power; swore that I should not live to see another day; and that he would tear out my heart. But his struggles and his threats were alike in vain. 1 cannot tell how many times I struck him. Blow after blow fell fast and heavy upon his wriggling form. At length he screamed—cried murder—and at last the blasphemous tyrant called on God for mercy. But he who had never shown mercy did not receive it. The stiff stock of the whip warped round his cringing body until my right arm ached.25 Had Northup died that day, he would have been satisfied thai his life had meaning. He would have gloried in the fact that he had finally tasted manhood, if only for a moment. He could have rested in peace knowing that he had died in battle, died with honor. Yet Tibeats does not kill Northup, although after such a demonstration of virility, Northup certainly wishes he had. He laments: I was conscious that I had subjected myself to unimaginable punishment. The reaction that followed my extreme ebullition of anger produced the most painful sensations of regret. An

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Dismantling Black Manhood unfriended, helpless slave—what could I do, what could I say, to justify, in the remotest manner, the heinous act I had committed, of resenting a white man's contumely and abuse. I tried to pray—I tried to beseech my Heavenly Father to sustain me in my sore extremity, but emotion choked my utterance, and I could only bow my head upon my hands and weep.26

Northup was truly sorry for what he had done, not because it was wrong but because his behavior had violated the clearly-established Slave Codes of the 1800s, and Northup was sure that "ample machinery was set up to provide for the effective enforcement and execution of these Codes."27 He was right. In short, Tibeats attempts to hang him, although his overseer convinces him to spare Northup's life. The attempt alone, however, plants sufficient fear in Northup for him to keep his prowess under control from then on. Experiences such as these forced enslaved African American men to disassociate manhood and the ability to defend one's self. Besides as field beasts and sexual beings, black men were never allowed to demonstrate their physical strength, and ultimately were forced even to deny the natural inclination to protect themselves. They slowly began to agree that simply to obey the captor was the best or certainly the safest way to stay alive, to truth, beatings taught them that their survival was intricately linked to their willingness to assume the mind of the captor and to humble themselves before him much like a child would a wrathful father. They subconsciously agreed that, unlike their forefathers, the attempted demonstration of their virility was no longer wise; in fact, enslaved black men eventually deemed the challenging of the captor's authority "foolish," for such behavior was entirely too costly. Instead, they constructed for themselves another self, one which could be called upon in the presence of white men, one which would allow for a passive existence such that whatever the captor did or wanted—be it at their expense—they could endure without retaliation. Herein lies the origin of DuBois' notion of double consciousness, especially as it pertains to black men in America. Put simply, black men learned to act a role pleasing to the white power structure, a role which convinced their oppressors that they had finally accepted the "reality" of white autonomy over their lives, while simultaneously struggling to find new ways of resistance which would restore to them their sense of agency. This burden of double existence has

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only grown heavier for black men since enslavement and, worse, the duality has made it difficult for contemporary readers to reconstruct the "original" black male self as opposed to the "masked" one. Over time, this notion of masking became a black American tradition as evidenced by Dunbar's magnum opus, "We Wear The Mask." We wear the mask that grins and lies, It hides our cheeks and shades our eyes, This debt we pay to human guile, With torn and bleeding hearts we smile, And mouth with myriad subtleties Why should the world be overwise In counting all our tears and sighs? Nay, only let them see us while We wear the mask We smile, but oh great Christ our cries To thee from tortured souls arise We sing, but oh the clay is vile beneath our feet and long the mile But let the world dream otherwise We wear the mask.28 To be sure, the mask served as a survival mechanism for thousands of enslaved black men who deemed life and family more important than a moment of pride. Years of flogging and maiming had forced them to modify their "virtue of virility" and to live their lives filled with the rage engendered by the loss of their physical prowess. By the end of enslavement, black men had come to understand that physical force was the primary means by which white men kept black men in subordination. Yet it was not the only means. In fact, along with the annihilation of the enslaved black male's physical prowess, captors removed black men from their role as husbands and, again, seriously hindered their progression towards manhood. Bibb proclaims, "I believed then, as 1 believe now, that every man has a right to...his own wife and children."29 But, unfortunately,

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his captor did not share this belief. Indeed, from the white male perspective, a black man was only a husband nominally. He did not possess the right to protect his wife from the evil advances of white men, he could not voice his objection when the child his wife birthed was not his own, and he could not work to assure that his wife was provided the goods necessary to live a healthy, happy life. Enslaved husbands knew that "...the master and not the [male] slave furnished the cabin, clothes and the minimal food for his wife and children. Under such a regime, slave fathers/husbands often had little to no authority."30 This truth made it practically impossible for black husbands ever to feel good about their place in the home. Like their captors, they wanted to be the heroes of their families, the ones to whom their sons would look for an example of manhood. Yet they rarely enjoyed this privilege. As husbands, their authority was usurped by the captor, and whatever he desired to do or say to a black man's wife, the latter was forced to "submit without a murmur."31 Bibb says that to be bound in chains like an animal was reprehensible, but to witness "insults and outrages committed against [one's] family"32 was unbearable. He implies that the psychological damage inflicted upon black men due to the abuse of their women will probably never be overcome. He protests that "[l]icentious white men, can and do, enter at night or day the lodging places of slaves; break up the bonds of affection in families; destroy all their domestic and social union for life; and the laws of the country afford them no protection."33 His rage is justified. As a young man, Henry Bibb falls in love with a young lady named Malinda whom, initially, he does not intend to marry, for his eyes are set on escaping the south and everything it represents, including an enslaved wife. However, his emotions soon overcome him, and he asks for her hand in marriage. To his surprise, he does not enjoy the blessings of his family and friends. He notes, "The time and place of my marriage, I consider one of the most trying of my life. I was opposed by friends and foes; my mother opposed me because she thought I was too young, and marrying she thought would involve me in trouble and difficulty."34 What his mother knows is that his attempt to fulfill the role of husband will be barred by his captor whom he can expect to utilize every available means to reinforce his submission. The "trouble and difficulty" she fears will arise when Bibb challenges his captor's self-proclaimed authority over his wife and her body. Bibb remarks:

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Malinda's master was very much in favor of the match, but entirely upon selfish principles. When I went to ask his permission to marry Malinda, his answer was in the affirmative with but one condition, which I consider to be too vulgar to be written in this book.35 So his mother's fear was not unfounded. Narratives abound which tell of husbands attempting to protect wivesfromthe abuse of white men and losing their lives in the process. Bibb's mother opposes him because she does not wish to lose her son in his efforts to be a good husband. Nonetheless, he marries Malinda and, much to his pleasure, is soon sold to her owner, William Gatewood. Life is pleasant for a season, and Bibb is pleased that he hasfinallyfound his source of happiness. However, his peace only lasts a season. Gatewood is a vicious, cruel slaveholder who feels the need periodically to remind his male slaves that he is in control, that his word is law. And what better way to accomplish this end, he concludes, than by abusing the men's wives. So he does—and often. Bibb says: [T]o live where I must be eye witness to [Malinda's] insults, scourgings and abuses, such as are common to be inflicted upon slaves, was more than I could bear. If my wife must be exposed to the insults and licentious passions of wicked slavedrivers and overseers; if she must bear the stripes of the lash laid on by an unmerciful tyrant; if this is to be done with impunity, which is frequently done by slaveholders and their abettors, Heaven forbid that I should be compelled to witness the sight.36 Gatewood not only compels Bibb to watch as he molests Malmda, but dares him to utter a word in protest. He can do nothing but endure the humiliation of knowing that his status as a husband means nothing on the plantation. His perception of himself as a man is so damaged that he has difficulty facing himself. Certainly his impotence is not his own fault; yet the insult this crime leveled upon his manhood leaves him wishing that he had heeded his mother's advice and remained single for life.37 Bibb eventually concludes thai flight is his best means of contending with his inability to be the husband he would desire. So "one morning about 2 o'clock," Bibb says, "1 took leave of my little family and started for Canada. This was almost like tearing off the limbs from my body."38 Nothing is more

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precious to Bibb than his wife and daughter. His decision to leave them cannot be interpreted as a lack of commitment to them. On the contrary, he escapes northward to free himself so that he can return and usher his family intofreedom.This fact is important to emphasize, for otherwise, some might misinterpret Bibb's flight from the plantation to indicate a lack of commitment to his family. Nothing could be further than the truth. Indeed, the very purpose of enslaved men running away from plantation existence was tofinda context in which they could live with their families in freedom. As a husband, Bibb's goal is to reach Canada so that he can return and take his family there. But his plans go awry. When Bibbfirstdeparts, he and Malinda agree that after the excitement of his escape dwindles, she is to meet him at some designated point in the state of Ohio. Fortunately, Bibb arrives in the north safely and anxiously awaits Malinda's arrival. Yet she never comes. He waits longer and never hears any wordfromor about her. He now resolves that he must return south and find his wife or at least inquire about her fate. Says he, "I had waited eight or nine months without hearing from my family. I felt it to be my duty, as a husband and father, to make one more effort [to secure their freedom]. I could not give [my family] up to be sacrificed on the 'bloody altar of slavery'."39 So he returns to Kentucky in search of those he loves most. Unfortunately, however, he is betrayed by a slave who could not "withstand the temptation of money." He is hauled away by cruel slave catchers and thrown into the local Bedford jail to be sold the next day to the highest bidder. Malinda hears of the incident and comes to visit Bibb. Their joint sorrows almost overcome them both, but they rejoice about being near one another Much to their joy, they are both sold to one Madison Garrison and transported to New Orleans where he intends to sell them again for a higher price. Upon their arrival, Bibb is chained and put into a slave prison where he remains until the next auction day. Malinda and little Francis live in Garrison's slave quarters, and Malinda suffers abuse unlike anything she had ever encountered, as Bibb relates: Garrison had taken her to a private house where he kept female slaves for the basest purposes...Soon after she arrived at this place, Garrison gave her to understand what he brought her there for, and made a most disgraceful assault on her virtue, which she promptly

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repeled; and for which Garrison punished her with the lash, threatening her that if she did not submit that he would sell her child. The next day he made the same attempt, which she resisted, declaring that she would not submit to it; and again he tied her up and flogged her until her garments were stained with blood.40 Bibb hears all of this while he is yet bound in chains, sitting in prison. He weeps as she speaks, both for her sorrows and for his own sense of helplessness. His manhood means absolutely nothing to him at this point, and he begs Malinda not to weep for him, "for it only added to my grief, which was [already] greater than I could bear."41 His confinement in prison was simply a physical representation of his internal bondage. His rage begins to multiply as he sits all day and thinks of his seemingly hopeless state. However, before he loses his sanity, he and his family are sold to the same planter and, once again, Bibb tastes a bit of happiness in their reunion. He escapesfromWhitfield's plantation and returns intending to buy his wife and daughter. Yet Whitfield will not sell, and Bibb is forced to leave them in his possession. The scene which ensued that day is undoubtedly the most horrendous in Bibb's narrative: When [Malinda] saw there was no help for us, and that we should soon be separated forever, in the name of Deacon Whitfield, and American slavery to meet no more as husband and wife,.. .—the last and loudest appeal was made on our knees. We appealed to the God ofjustice and to the sacred ties of humanity; but this was all in vain. The louder we prayed the harder he whipped, amid the most heart-rending shrieksfromthe poor slave mother and child, as little Frances stood by, sobbing at the abuse inflicted on her mother. As we lefl the plantation, as far as we could see and hear, the Deacon was still laying on the gory lash, trying to prevent poor Malindafromweeping over the loss of her departed husband... This occurred in December, 1840.1 have never seen Malinda, since that period. I never expect to see her again.42 And as far as readers know, the two are never reunited. Due to their status as enslaved individuals, their union was dissolved via their physical separation and, after a while, the two concluded simply that the other no

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longer existed. They never forgot about each other; they simply kept living, Bibb in the north and Malinda in the south. Bibb eventually remarries, this time a young lady named Mary Miles. About her he says: My beloved wife is a bosom friend, a help-meet, a loving companion in all the social, moral, and religious relations of life. She is to me what a poor slave's wife can never be to her husband while in the condition of a slave; for she can not [sic] be true to her husband contrary to the will of her master. She can neither be pure nor virtuous, contrary to the will of her master. She dare not refuse to be reduced to a state of adultery at the will of her master; from the fact that the slaveholding law, customs and teachings are all against the poor slaves.43 Bibb is surely relieved to be away from the plantation, the place where his manhood had no purpose, no meaning. But he never forgets what it was like to be the husband of an enslaved wife, to be humiliated daily before one's family such that a man's sense of pride and dignity dwindled away. Solomon Northup could easily have corroborated Bibb's testimony concerning the experiences of enslaved black husbands, for he sustained the same type of degradation. As I have mentioned, Northup was born a free man and kidnapped into slavery, without ever having had the opportunity to bid his family farewell. He describes how, as he is smuggled into the South, he experienced this separation: Thoughts of my family, my wife and children, continually occupied my mind. When sleep overpowered me 1 dreamed o( them—dreamed 1 was again in Saratoga—that I could see their faces, and hear their voices calling me. Awakening from the pleasant phantasms of sleep to the bitter realities around me, I could but groan and weep.44 Northup is aware of the possibility that he may never see his family again. As a husband, he prays desperately to be reunited with his wife Anne without whom he feels incomplete. The prospect that she might eventually consider him dead and commit herself to another man was more than Northup could bear. He had lived his life in dedication to Anne and their three children; they

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were his raison d'etre. But now, as he leaves the north and enters the slave-holding states of the south, he is forced to live an existence without any of his loved ones. He asks himself, "My family, alas, should I ever see them more?" He then says, "There was a feeling of utter desolation in my heart, filling it with a despairing and regretful sense, that 1 had not [died]."45 As a freebom black man, Northup undoubtedly believed that his social status was more desirable than his enslaved brother's. Yet he does not believe this for long. Once sold in New Orleans, he is thoroughly convinced that both the bound and thefreeblack man in America share the same social space. He realizes that afreeblack man is subject to the same trials and atrocities as an enslaved one, for the former could be stolen away from his family and sold into slavery at any given moment. And if the man were married, he was compelled simply to endure the probability of never seeing his wife again. Yet the thought of being separated from his family was not the worst of Northup's woes. Once he becomes a member of the southern black plantation community, his status as a husband and a man who is committed to the preservation of black women is seriously challenged. He remembers being horrified as captors abused women before his very eyes. Indeed, due to such experiences, he says, "1 resolved in my mind a hundred plans of escape, and fully determined to make the attempt the first desperate chance that offered."46 He perceives himself so useless and his existence so trivialized that even if he is caught, he concludes that he has nothing to lose. His family is in the north, so, unlike Bibb, he does not endure the trauma of leaving loved ones behind. Yet the longer he remains on the plantation, the more complex his situation becomes. More specifically, he soon becomes attached to a young lady named Patsey with whom he empathizes, for she suffers the lash of the mistress to no small degree. Northup recalls that: Patsey wept oflener, and suffered more, than any of her companions. She had been literally excoriated. Her back bore the scars of a thousand stripes; not because she was backward in her work, nor because she was of an unmindful and rebellious spirit, but because it had fallen to her lot to be the slave of a licentious master and a jealous mistress. She shrank before the lustful eye of the one, and was in danger even of her life at the hands of the other, and between the two, she was indeed accursed...Nothing delighted

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Unfortunately, Northup has no choice but to witness the torture of Patsey. Of course he can say nothing in her defense, for his actions would undoubtedly have intensified her abuse and initiated his own. So he attempts to provide her some small measure of comfort during those rare moments when they are alone. He wants to protect her, to make use of his manhood on behalf of this his sister, but captivity disallows him the right. Northup learns through much pain and inner turmoil that, unlike other men in America, black men cannot protect the virtue of their women. They must contend with the reality that their manhood is made void when called upon to assist wives, sisters, or mothers. Such a profound realization surely made husbands question their function in the relationship. For if a man could not protect his wife or any black woman for that matter, what was the use of his manhood? This is certainly Northup's sentiment. And the uselessness of his manhood is made manifest on one occasion when he is forced not only to witness but to participate in one of Patsey's floggings. She has left Epp's plantation in search of soap with which to wash his clothes. Upon her return, he questions her whereabouts. She tells him precisely what time she left and for what cause. He does not believe her, however, and shouts, "You lie, you black wench!" She insists upon the truth of her words, but to no avail. He orders her to beflogged,but worse, he compels Northup to do it, as Northup recalls with horror: [T]urning to me, he ordered four stakes to be driven into the ground, pointing with the toe of his boot to the places where he wanted them. When the stakes were driven down, he ordered her to be stripped of every article of dress. Ropes were then brought, and the naked girl was laid upon her face, her wrists and feet each tiedfirmlyto a stake. Stepping to the piazza, he took down a heavy whip, and placing it in my hands, commanded me to lash her. Unpleasant as it was, I was compelled to obey him. Nowhere that day, on the face of the whole earth, I venture to say, was there such a demoniac exhibition witnessed as then ensued.48

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The humiliation Northup endures is simply overwhelming. His manhood has absolutely no value at this point, and the more he whips Patsey, the more he realizes that his personal autonomy has been totally usurped by the one he hates the most. Yet the ordeal becomes even more traumatic when, as Northup remembers, "Epps ground his teeth, and stamped upon the ground, screaming at me, like a mad fiend, to strike harder. "49 There was nothing he could do but obey the command. His anger practically consumes him, however, and after about 15 lashes, he resolves that, come what may, he will not continue. Says he, ff[T]hrowing down the whip, I declared I could punish her no more." Northup describes the result: [Epps] seized it himself, and applied it with ten-fold greater force than I had. The painful cries and shrieks of the tortured Patsey loaded the air. She was terribly lacerated—I may say without exaggeration, literally flayed. The lash was wet with blood, which flowed down her sides and dropped upon the ground.50 This experience disturbs Northup for some time. He has difficulty constructing any sense of self in an environment where his manhood is proved so ineffectual. Actually, Northup marvels at the white man's ability to dehumanize Africans with absolutely no guilt. There is something savage about it all, he contends. But since, at least in his present state, he can effect no change, he simply seeks more earnestly the opportunity to escape. Never once does he believe that he will ever be able to fulfill his role as a man, especially as a protector of women, while in the presence of the captor. What he desires to be, how he would choose to maneuver his manhood leaves him with no choice but to flee. Not surprisingly, some men "...vowed early in life never to marry. They did not want to marry a woman and be forced to watch as she was beaten, insulted, raped, overworked, or starved without being able to protect her."51 Marriage ceased being a lifestyle to which black males aspired enthusiastically, and husbandhood lost most of its glory. This means, of course, that the family was ascribed a new place in the black male psyche. Put simply, enslaved men were asked to choose between either a family or individual survival, and most chose both, meaning that when they could bear no longer the torture which resulted from having a family, many escaped the plantation before they retaliated and invited their own deaths. This does not

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mean that husbandhood lost its significance to black men; rather, the point is that, unlike in Africa, enslaved husbands could not perform as they thought a husband ought. Consequently, husbandhood was no longer a celebrated aspect of black male existence. In fact, when an enslaved black man married, instead of total communal jubilation, he received words of comfort, intended to help sustain him in the midst of the captor's insults to his manhood. The final major component of the traditional West African concept of manhood which remained central to enslaved African American men was fatherhood Both Bibb and Northup seem to lose some aspect of themselves when they are separated from their children or have no opportunity to see them for many years. People often have been led to believe that, due to the constraints of the institution of enslavement, fathers slowly lost a sense of love and concern for their children because they were unable to nurture them as they would have liked. Fathers spent less time with children, we are told, than did mothers (or surrogate mothers); it seems logical to conclude that black fathers were less attached to their children than were black mothers. However, Bibb's and Northup's narratives do not support this position. In fact, their relationship with their children suggests that enslaved black men of the 19th century valued nothing more highly than their offspring. Like their ancient fathers, they committed their entire beings to the preservation of their children. And when enslavement disrupted their role as father, Bibb and Northup knew that their manhood would be difficult to recapture. To be sure, captors made it clear that children belonged to them and not their biological mothers and fathers, and enslaved fathers could give their children no more protection than they could their wives. When captors decided that a young person should be reminded of his or her place on the plantation, youth, especially sons, were often whipped in the presence of their father. This act reminded both father and son that the captor was the "father" of them both.52 Bibb asks, "Who can imagine what could be the feelings of a father and mother, when looking upon their infant child whipped and tortured with impunity, and they placed in a situation where they can afford it no protection?"53 This reality exacerbated the enslaved male's already deplorable plight and moved him closer to the contention that his helplessness was directly proportional to his uselessness. Bibb recalls an instance when he was forced to endure the physical abuse of his daughter, Mary Frances. She was a child at the time, no more than two or three years of age. He says:

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1 recollect that Malinda and myself came from the field one summer's day at noon, and poor little Frances came creeping to her mother smiling, but with large tear drops standing in her dear little eyes, sobbing and trying to tell her mother that she had been abused, but was not able to utter a word. Her little face was bruised black with the whole print of Mrs. Gatewood's hand. This print was plainly to be seen for eight days after it was done.54 Hugs and tears were all that Northup could provide Mary Frances. His role as a father had been nullified. Mary Frances comes to him as her protector, her balm when wounded, but finds only a sympathetic father grieving the white man's annihilation of black manhood. In his humiliation, he proclaims: If ever there was any one act of my life while a slave, that I have to lament over, it is that of being a father and a husband of slaves. I have the satisfaction of knowing that I am only the father of one slave. She is bone of my bone, and flesh of my flesh; poor unfortunate child. She was the first and shall be the last slave that ever I will father, for chains and slavery on this earth.55 As with husbandhood, black fatherhood on the American plantation lost most of its appeal. By the mid 19th century, many enslaved fathers had concluded that the pain of watching one's children beaten and sold away was greater than the joy their birth incited. Many fathers even regretted that they ever had children. Their presence in the world initiated so much anxiety and sorrow that fathers wished they simply had left these innocent spirits in the safety and care of the ancestors. Bibb's feelings of worthlessness as a father become more acute upon the death of his second child. Malinda, his wife, has been sick for some time, and all expect her to die at any moment. During her illness, she loses their second baby, and although Bibb hates the idea of another enslaved child, the loss devastates him. But worse, the captor does not allow him time to mourn the child's death or even to prepare it a coffin. He laments, "I was compelled to dig my own child's grave and bury it myself without even a box to put it in."56 For the remainder of his life, he must contend with the reality that his child did not receive a proper burial. Bibb's spirit and self-esteem as a father and

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a man is forever destroyed. The captor rules even the existence of his unborn child. Solomon Northup wonders the same thing. He misses nothing more sincerely than the sound of his children's voices in his ears. He weeps when he thinks of Elizabeth, Margaret, and Alonzo left fatherless due to the evil of white men who will steal a black man from his home in order to secure an extra dollar for themselves. Says he: [My children] filled our house with gladness. Their young voices were music in our ears. Many an airy castle did their mother and myself build for the little innocents. When not at labor I was always walking with them, clad in their best attire, through the streets and groves of Saratoga. Their presence was my delight; and 1 clasped them to my bosom with as warm and tender loves as if their clouded skins had been as white as snow.57 But when he is kidnapped, the joy his children once evoked in his spirit turns to sorrow. He thinks often of Alonzo, who now has no father to teach him what it means to be a man. Northup knows that, because his enslavement has divorced him from his family, they will eventually reconstruct their lives without him. Not that his children would forget him or stop loving him; they simply would have no choice but to accept the fact that he was no longer a part of their daily reality. This truth keeps Northup's head hung low and causes him to pray continuously forfreedom.George R. Allen, a 12-year-old, free black boy in New York, wrote the following poem on behalf of enslaved fathers such as Northup: Slavery, oh, thou cruel stain, Thou dost fill my heart with pain: See my brother, there he stands Chained by slavery's cruel bands. Could we not feel a brother's woes, Relieve the wants he undergoes, Snatch him from slavery's cruel smart, And to himfreedom'sjoy impart?58

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However, while enslaved and distanced from his own children, Northup becomes attached to a young boy named Randall. As Northup fears, the captor perceives their attachment and, in order to guard against the strength of the black male bond, he sells Randall and his mother Eliza away to a different plantation. Witnessing the event and losing his surrogate son, Northup says, "It was a mournful scene indeed. I would have cried myself if I had dared."59 To be sure, he fears the captor's reaction to his tears. But more importantly, he is probably afraid that, once released, his emotions might overwhelm him. Experiences of this nature and his prayers to be reunited with his own children cause Northup to ask, "Why had I not died in my young years—before God had given me children to love and live for? What happiness and suffering and sorrow it would have prevented." He sees his children-including Randall-as smaller parts of himself and believes that, without them, his manhood is incomplete, for he is unable to fulfil the role of father as he desires. Yet, through a series of events and after years of bondage, Northup was finally able to escape enslavement and reunite himself with his family in the north. He remembers this moment: As I entered their comfortable cottage, Margaret was the first that met me. She did not recognize me... When told who I was, she was overcome with emotion, and unable to speak. Presently Elizabeth entered the room, and Anne came running from the hotel, having been informed of my arrival. They embraced me, and with tears flowing down their cheeks, hung upon my neck.60 He was so overwhelmed by it all that he was unable to speak. He asked about his son Alonzo and was told that" Alonzo was absent in the western part of the State. The boy had written to his mother a short time previous, of the prospect of his obtaining sufficient money to purchase [his Daddy's] freedom." This fact certainly contributed to Northup's joy. Anne tells Northup further that, "from [Alonzo's] earliest years, [the prospect of purchasing his father'sfreedom]had been the chief object of his thoughts and his ambition."61 So Alonzo had not dismissed his father after all. Rather, he had spent his days searching for ways in which he might secure Northup's freedom and be reunited with him. Northup knew that the years lost during

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his enslavement could never be recovered; yet he found great consolation in the fact that he had been rejoined to those who meant most to him.62 One aspect of Bibb's and Northup's narratives which is not found in either Vassa's or Smith's is the idea of escape or flight. By the 1800s, the north had become known as the "land offreedom,"the refuge for the fugitive slave. And enslaved black men sought their entry into this "heaven" on every given opportunity, hoping to recapture what their captor had stolen—their agency and respect, that is, their manhood. Most attempted the dangerous journey after having concluded that flight was their last option for psychological and emotional survival. Black men ran because their sanity was on the line and because they needed a context in which peace of mind could be had and maintained. Coping mechanisms had proved inadequate to sustain them for a lifetime. Northup says: There was not a day throughout the ten years I belonged to Epps that I did not consult with myself upon the prospect of escape. I laid many plans, which at the time I considered excellent ones, but one after the other they were all abandoned. No man who has never been placed in such a situation, can comprehend the thousand obstacles thrown in the way of theflyingslave. Every white man's hand is raised against him—the patrollers are watching for him—the hounds are ready to follow on his track, and the nature of the country is such as renders it impossible to pass through it with any safety.63 Yet he remains true to his decision. The obstacles which might have deterred some only made Northup more determined to taste liberty again. Henry Bibb makes a similar resolution. While enslaved, he decides that, regardless of the number of escape attempts and the punishments they incur upon him, he will know freedom one day. As a man, he refuses to live the remainder of his days in submission to another man. He declares: ...all that I heard about liberty and freedom to the slave, I never forgot. Among other good trades I learned the art of running away to perfection. I made a regular business of it, and never gave it up, until I had broken the bands of slavery, and landed myself safely in Canada, where I was regarded as a man, not as a thing.64

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The "art of running away" became the occupation of more than a few enslaved men. As Bibb confirms, captors regarded them simply as "things" which needed nothing more than food and shelter to exist. This reality was traumatic for African people because, in their world view, nothing was more precious than the freedom to enjoy life. In fact, "to them, a person was, he belonged, he had meaning—be he powerful or weak, quick or slow. And [unlike Europeans, African Americans] would have been at a loss to discover a quantitative value to stand for a man or woman."65 So when black men escaped, they were in search of a place where humanity was both recognized and respected. They also sought a home in which their manhood could be housed and protected from others who sought its destruction. In a broader sense,freedomheld the possibility that males could rescue their families and resume their perceived role in the home and in the community. Many black men felt as though they had to flee if they were ever to know manhood. It is crucial to note that men escaped only after great deliberation concerning the welfare of their families. When married men fled, their primary mental preoccupation was how to rescue wives and children whom they were forced to leave behind. The misconception that black men who escaped enslavement loved themselves and their own freedom more than they loved their family members is a terrible travesty. This explains why, during enslavement, black male self-worth was disconnected—lo some extent-from the family, for the inability to contribute to the family's welfare as the male saw fit was often the primary obstacle he faced in his quest for manhood. Whether abandonment of the home was the best route men could have taken to ensure the survival of their families, is not for me to say. What I do believe, however, is that when enslaved black men escaped the institution of slavery, they were doing what they felt best not only for themselves but for their families as well. In fact, the black male's desire for a place in which he could be a man was indeed his desire for a place in which he could coexist with his family harmoniously. Herbert G. Gutman notes rightly in The Black Family in Slavery and Freedom that the notion of flight "was vastly more complicated than the mere individual decision to quit slavery."66 He confirms that when black men left plantations, they did so only after having decided that they would return as soon as possible in order to "steal away" relatives. Gutman also suggests that manhood was intricately tied to the idea of flight. Enslaved black men

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came to regard the north as the place where men were allowed to be men; hence, a successful escape north equaled, in the black male psyche, a restoration of manhood. Certainly an examination of male slave narratives, juxtaposed with an understanding of African manhood, will illustrate the logic of their position, but the examination should also show readers that flight actually takes black males further away from themselves in that they are left with no social context or community of people who might affirm their self-worth. Moreover, for black males to leave their community in search of manhood suggests that they slowly came to view manhood as an essentially individual pursuit they must now achieve alone. So, out of desperation, black men fled, although often unsure of what they might encounter. They felt confident, however, that somewhere in the north they would find their stolen selves and again be able to exist as they felt men ought. So by the end of enslavement, the West African concept of manhood had become seriously distorted. Enslaved black men could neither exercise their physical prowess in their own defense nor stand as provider and protector of their women and children. Consequently, African American men needed a standard of manhood which they could uphold free of social and economic constraints. They found one. And, ironically, the new concept was also rooted in male performance, but not as provider and protector. Rather, the idea of manhood that enslaved men of the 19th century came to embrace subconsciously rested upon one's sexual virility. This seems logical, for a black man's penis was the only aspect of his maleness which the captor had not usurped. Further, sexual performance provided black men an arena m which they could be the guaranteed victor, never being forced to relinquish their title to anyone. And, without doubt, white captors contributed to this idea, for the only place in which they allowed—sometimes—an enslaved black man's autonomy was in his own bed. Therefore, a black male's self-worth and pride became disproportionately tied to his sexual abilities. If one questioned a black man's manhood, he could now prove it "with this thing 1 got between my legs." Bell Hooks notes: [W]ith the emergence of a fierce phallocentrism [during the latter years of enslavement], a man was no longer a man because he provided care for his family, he was a man simply because he had a penis. Furthermore, his ability to use that penis in the arena of

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sexual conquest could bring him as much status as being a wage earner and provider. A sexually defined masculine ideal rooted in physical domination and sexual possession of women could be accessible to all men. Hence, even unemployed [or enslaved] black men could gain status, could be seen as the embodiment of masculinity, within a phallocentric framework.67 And such a framework provided 19th century black men with a context in which their manhood could go unquestioned and uncontested. In fact, the stereotypes of "studs" and "bucks"68 begin during enslavement when black men were used and seen primarily as work horses and breeders.69 Said differently, the male ability to procreate and, consequently, keep the plantation nourished with slaves was celebrated by the captor whose applause, in turn, reinforced the act. Over time, black men began to participate in that celebration, to the extent that they even constructed myths and folkloric tales about the length of their penises and the extent to which they could "go all night." The story of Stagolee is one such tale.70 This legendary figure was birthed during enslavement and was known as "the ladies' man" who was never found lacking. He was the black superman, and his greatest attribute was his ability to "please" a woman. As the legend goes, he has no commitment to a wife and no desire to rear children. He is constantly unemployed, so he can never serve as anyone's provider. He loves no one more than he loves himself, a love based primarily in his sexual reputation. He feels no need to stand as anyone's protector, for that which he values most he guards carefully. His folkloric presence stands as the symbol of black male prowess, and, interestingly enough, even today when black men—especially in the South—speak of Stagolee, they do so with pride and a humor which serves to affirm his sexual legacy. However, it is important to note that black men did not embrace a phallocentric idea of manhood voluntarily or even consciously. Indeed, their role as "stud" was no doubt rejected initially, seen as another means of white male exploitation of black bodies. But because phallocentrism is based in male performance, it worked as a kind of "manhood substitute" in place of black husbandhood and fatherhood. This is not to suggest that black men totally abandoned the traditional West African concept of manhood; rather that, instead of traditional male roles, sexual performance became the means

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whereby many black men affirmed their manhood. It required physical endurance and often evoked the applause of women. Most importantly, it was an ideal any black man could achieve with few external obstacles. But what about those black men who also lived during the mid 1800s yet never knew a day of bondage? How did they understand the concept of manhood? They had never been exploited on southern plantations and had not endured the trauma of being little more than a sexual machine. Was the concept of black manhood different to those who had lived their entire lives as free men? We shall see.

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Notes 1. For more on the evolution of black theology, see J. Deotis Roberts, Liberation and Reconciliation: A Black Theology (Philadelphia: The Westminster Press, 1971). 2. Bell Hooks, Black Looks (Boston: South End Press, 1992), 90. 3. Ibid. 4. Solomon Northup, Twelve Years a Slave: Narrative of Solomon Northup (1853) reprinted in Gilbert Osofsky, Puttin' On Ole Massa (New York: Harper and Row Publishers, 1969), 406. 5. Ibid., 227. 6. Henry Bibb, Narrative of the Life and Adventures of Henry Bibb (1849) reprinted in Gilbert Osofsky, Puttin' On Ole Massa (New York: Harper and Row Publishers, 1969) 153. 7. The Anti-Slavery Bugle, Vol. 5, No. 85 (Nov. 3, 1849), 1, in Charles T. Davis and Henry Louis Gates, Jr., The Slave's Narrative (New York: Oxford University Press, 1985), 29. 8. For more information on the authenticity of these two narratives, see Marion Wilson Starling, The Slave Narrative (Washington, D.C.: Howard University Press, 1988). 9. Bibb, Narrative of the Life, 61. 10. Ibid. 11. Ibid., 72. 12. Northup, Twelve Years a Slave, 371. 13. For a definition of the traditional West African concept of manhood, refer to chapter 2. 14. Bibb, Narrative of the Life, 64. 15. Ibid., 129 & 130. 16. V.P. Franklin, Black Self Determination (Westport, Connecticut: Lawrence Hill and Company, 1984), 6. 17. Northup, Twelve Years a Slave, 243. 18. Richard C. Wade, "The Lash and the Law," in The Slavery Experience in the United States, edited by Irwin Unger and David Reimers (New York: Holt, Rinehart and Winston, Inc.), 139. 19. Northup, Twelve Years a Slave, 243.

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20. Allen Weinstein and Frank Otto Gatell, American Negro Slavery (New York: Oxford University Press, 1968), 55. 21. Northup, Twelve Years a Slave, 322. 22. For a more in-depth discussion of physical brutality on the American plantation, see Richard C. Wade, "The Lash and the Law" in The Slavery Experience in the United States. 23. Northup, Twelve Years a Slave, 282. 24. Ibid., 281. 25. Ibid., 281. 26. Ibid., 284. 27. John Hope Franklin, From Slavery to Freedom (New York: Alfred A.Knopf, 1974), 141. 28. Paul Laurence Dunbar, The Complete Poems of Paul Laurence Dunbar (New York: Dodd, Mead, & Co., 1920), 17. 29. Bibb, Narrative of the Life, 66. 30. John W. Blassingame, The Slave Community (New York: Oxford University Press, 1974), 88. 31. Ibid. 32. Ibid., 67. 33. Ibid., 78. 34. Ibid. 35. Ibid., 79. 36. Ibid., 80. 37. The Narrative of Josiah Henson is another autobiographical statement of an enslaved husband who was mangled for attempting to protect his wifefromthe lust of their white captor. The excerpt relevant to this issue can be found in John F. Bayliss, Black Slave Narratives (London: Collier Books, 1970), 101-107. 38. Bibb, Narrative of the Life, 101. 39. Ibid., 102. 40. Ibid., 112. 41. Ibid., 105. 42. Ibid., 138-9. 43. Ibid., 164. 44. Northup, Twelve Years a Slave, 244. 45. Ibid., 261.

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46. Ibid., 250. 47. Ibid., 328. 48. Ibid., 367. 49. Ibid. 50. Ibid., 368. 51. Willie Lee Rose, Slavery and Freedom (New York: Oxford University Press, 1982), 40. 52. For a greater illustration of this tragedy, see James W.C. Pennington, The Fugitive Blacksmith; or, Events in the History of James W. C. Pennington, Pastor of a Presbyterian Church, New York, Formerly a Slave in the State ofMaryland, United States. (London: C. Gilpin, 1849) 53. Bibb, Narrative of the Life, 80 & 81. 54. Ibid., 80. 55. Ibid., 81. 56. Ibid., 123. 57. Northup, Twelve Years a Slave, 233. 58. In Dorothy Porter, Early Negro Writing 1760-1837 (Boston: Beacon Press, 1971), 574. 59. Northup, Twelve Years a Slave, 265. 60. Ibid., 406. 61. Ibid. 62. For more information on the state of black families during enslavement, see E. Franklin Frazier's essay, "The Negro Family in America," in The Black Family edited by Robert Staples, (Belmont, California: Wadsworth Publishing Company, Inc., 1971.) 63. Northup, Twelve Years a Slave, 358. 64. Bibb, Narrative of the Life, 65. 65. Nathan Irvin Huggins, Black Odyssey: The Afro-American Ordeal in Slavery (New York: Vintage Books, 1979), 115. 66. Herbert G. Gutman, The Black Family in Slavery and Freedom 1750-1925 (New York: Vintage Books, 1977), 264. 67. Hooks, Black Looks, 94. 68. For a greater analysis of the various stereotypes applied to Black men as a result of enslavement, see Toms, Coons, Mulattoes, Mammies, and Bucks: An Interpretive History of Blacks in American Film (New York: Viking Press, 1973).

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69. Kenneth Stampp provides insightful information on the exploitation of Africans as work objects in his essay, "From Day Clean to First Dark" in The Slavery Experience in the United States, edited by Irwin Unger and David Reimers. 70. Julius Lester, Black Folktales (New York: Grove Press, 1969), 113. 71. For more on the evolution of black theology, see J. Deotis Roberts, Liberation and Reconciliation: A Black Theology (Philadelphia: The Westminster Press, 1971.) 72. Bell Hooks, Black Looks (Boston: South End Press, 1992), 90. 73. Ibid. 74. Solomon Northup, Twelve Years a Slave: Narrative of Solomon Northup (1853) reprinted in Gilbert Osofsky, Puttin' On Ole Massa (New York: Harper and Row Publishers, 1969), 406. 75. Ibid., 227. 76. Henry Bibb, Narrative of the Life and Adventures of Henry Bibb (1849) reprinted in Gilbert Osofsky, Puttin' On Ole Massa (New York: Harper and Row Publishers, 1969), 153. 77. The Anti-Slavery Bugle, Vol. 5, No. 85 (Nov. 3, 1849), 1, in Charles T. Davis and Henry Louis Gates, Jr., The Slave's Narrative (New York: Oxford University Press, 1985), 29. 78. For more information on the authenticity of these two narratives, see Marion Wilson Starling, The Slave Narrative (Washington, D.C.: Howard University Press, 1988). 79. Bibb, Narrative of the Life, 67. 80. Ibid. 81. Ibid., 72. 82. Northup, Twelve Years a Slave, 371. 83. Again, for a definition of the traditional West African concept of manhood, refer to chapter 2. 84. Bibb, Narrative of the Life, 64. 85. Ibid., 129& 130. 86. V.P. Franklin, Black Self Determination (Westport, Connecticut: Lawrence Hill and Company, 1984), 6. 87. Northup, Twelve Years a Slave, 243. 88. Richard C. Wade, "The Lash and the Law," in The Slavery Experience in the United States, edited by Irwin Unger and David Reimers

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(New York: Holt, Rinehart and Winston, Inc.), 139. 89. Northup, Twelve Years a Slave, 243. 90. Allen Weinstein and Frank Otto Gatell, American Negro Slavery (New York: Oxford University Press, 1968), 55. 91. Northup, Twelve Years a Slave, 322. 92. For a more in-depth discussion of physical brutality on the American plantation, see Richard C. Wade, "The Lash and the Law" in The Slavery Experience in the United States. 93. Northup, Twelve Years a Slave, 282. 94. Ibid., 281. 95. Ibid., 281. 96. Ibid., 284. 97. John Hope Franklin, From Slavery to Freedom (New York: Alfred A.Knopf, 1974), 141. 98. Paul Laurence Dunbar, The Complete Poems of Paul Laurence Dunbar (New York: Dodd, Mead, & Co., 1920), 17. 99. Bibb, Narrative of the Life, 66. 100. John W. Blassingame, The Slave Community (New York: Oxford University Press, 1974), 88. 101. Ibid. 102. Ibid., 67. 103. Ibid, 78. 104. Ibid. 105. Ibid., 79. 106. Ibid., 80. 107. The Narrative of Josiah Benson is another autobiographical statement of an enslaved husband who was mangled for attempting to protect his wifefromthe lust of their white captor. The excerpt relevant to this issue can be found in John F. Bayliss, Black Slave Narratives (London: Collier Books, 1970), 101-107. 108. Bibb, Narrative of the Life, 101. 109. Ibid., 102. 110. Ibid., 112. 111. Ibid., 105. 112. Ibid., 138-9. 113. Ibid., 164.

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1 14. Northup, Twelve Years a Slave, 244. 115. Ibid., 261. 116. Ibid., 250. 117. Ibid., 328. 118. Ibid., 367. 119. Ibid. 120. Ibid., 368. 121. Willie Lee Rose, Slavery and Freedom (New York: Oxford University Press, 1982), 40. 122. For a greater illustration of this tragedy, see James W.C. Pennington, The Fugitive Blacksmith; or, Events in the History of James W. C. Pennington, Pastor of a Presbyterian Church, New York, Formerly a Slave in the State ofMaryland, United States. (London: C. Gilpin, 1849) 123. Bibb, Narrative of the Life, 80 & 81. 124. Ibid., 80. 125. Ibid., 81. 126. Ibid., 123. 127. Northup, Twelve Years a Slave, 233. 128. In Dorothy Porter, Early Negro Writing 1760-1837 (Boston: Beacon Press, 1971), 574. 129. Northup, Twelve Years a Slave, 265. 130. Ibid., 406. 131. Ibid. 132. For more information on the state of black families during enslavement, see E. Franklin Frazier's essay, "The Negro Family in America," in The Black Family edited by Robert Staples, (Belmont, California: Wadsworth Publishing Company, inc., 1971.) 133. Northup, Twelve Years a Slave, 358. 134. Bibb, Narrative of the Life, 65. 135. Nathan Irvin Huggins, Black Odyssey: The Afro-American Ordeal in Slavery (New York: Vintage Books, 1979), 115. 136. Herbert G. Gutman, The Black Family in Slavery and Freedom 1750-1925 (New York: Vintage Books, 1977), 264. 137. Hooks, Black Looks, 94. 138. For a greater analysis of the various stereotypes applied to Black men as a result of enslavement, see Toms, Coons, Mulattoes, Mammies, and

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Bucks: An Interpretive History of Blacks in American Film (New York: Viking Press, 1973). 139. Kenneth Stampp provides insightful information on the exploitation of Africans as work objects in his essay, "From Day Clean to First Dark" in The Slavery Experience in the United States, edited by Irwin Unger and David Reimers. 140. Julius Lester, Black Folktales (New York: Grove Press, 1969), 113.

VI The Concept of Manhood and the Free Black Male of the 19th Century In 1923, Arna Bontemps wrote his magnum opus entitled "A Black Man Talks of Reaping." This poem captures the despair and hopelessness black men have been historically compelled to endure, resulting from a life-time of effort and yet, in the end, little—if any—yield. I have sown beside all waters in my day. I planted deep within my heart the fear That wind or foul would take the grain away. I planted safe against this stark, lean year. I scattered seed enough to plant the land in rows from Canada to Mexico. But for my reaping only what the hand Can hold at once is all that I can show. Yet what I sowed and what the orchard yields My brother's sons are gathering stalk and root Small wonder then my children glean in fields they have not sown and feed on bitter fruit.' Upon afirstreading, most would probably assume this poem to function as voice for the enslaved black male. Certainly it does. However, it also carries the sentiment of black men who never experienced physical bondage, for

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they too testified that "for my reaping only what the hand can hold at once is all that I can show." Since their arrival in "The Land of the Free," black men—both enslaved and nominallyfree—havehad to contend with the fact that their labors and dreams always meet the common white foe, who, through individual efforts or institutional machinations, assures that their seeds' growth is sufficiently thwarted to remind them of their "place" in white America. From the black male perspective, the Afrocentrist also understands Bontemps to imply that educational status, self-perceived importance, or even wealth are often irrelevant social achievements when one seeks to determine the worth of a black man in racist America, in other words, at least historically, a black man's life was not significantly better simply because he possessed a college degree or owed many acres of land. As far as the larger power structure was concerned—that entity run by those who enjoyed the power to limit a black man's possibilities—all black men were simply "niggas in America" who would do well to understand that they were never to assume themselves equal to their white male counterparts. And if they did, the establishment stood ready and able to teach them the error of their ways. So, by the mid-19th century, the black male struggle for manhood in America was a battle for both the free and the enslaved. Indeed, their existence was differentiated only in thai the former could move about more freely than the latter, although still not as freely as whites. Both faced the same amount and type of prejudice and sustained blows to their manhood which often made thefreeblack man wonder if, in fact, his life was not more burdensome than that of his enslaved brother, for the latter could at least be assured food and shelter, however minimal. The free black man could not. Actually, to be "free," black, male, and on one's own in the early 19th century meant that one enjoyed no guarantees of anything. Unemployment, racial discrimination, and unjust legislation kept the free black man in constant pursuit of those goods whereby his existence could be maintained and his manhood secured. Certainly he perceived that he was closer to attaining manhood than his enslaved brother; however, he soon learned that the color of his skin still barred his way and kept him—metaphorically speaking--reaching for manhood as whites dangled it above his head, rarely allowing him to possess it. Said differently, black manhood was always at the mercy of "the Man," whether he was captor or simply employer. Indeed,

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"[s]laves who succeeded in escaping to the North soon learned that freedom was not synonymous with equality."2 This was a difficult truth for free black men to accept, but the reality forced itself upon them as they realized that the absence of physical bondage was not directly proportional to a secure sense of manhood. The aim of this chapter is to examine the perception of manhood as held by free black men of the early 19th century. Such an exploration is important, for it allows readers to understand another aspect of the black male's struggle for manhood in America. Samuel Ringgold Ward's The Autobiography of A Fugitive Negro (1855) and Daniel A. F syne? s Recollections of Seventy Years (1880) will serve as primary source material as we explore the concept of black manhood from the perspective of those men who considered themselves "free." It seems that by the time these two narratives entered the American literary tradition, conventions of the black narrative had become well-established. Black texts—especially those autobiographical in nature—were "supposed" to contain certain kinds of information, for ultimately white readers perceived black writing to be little more than blacks telling whites about their trials and tribulations. So, by the 1850s, black narratives shared a similar structure and literary format such that one knew-before their publication-the kinds of information they embodied. And whether the works were written by the enslaved, the once-enslaved, or the forever-free, a sampling of these texts yields evidence that conventions of the black narrative were wide-spread and, for the most part, adhered to by black authors. Samuel Ward and Daniel Payne are no exception. Like Vassa, Smith, Bibb, and Northup, they too begin their works by addressing the issue of authenticity, although their concern is less about the "believability" of their work and more for whom the work has been written. Both authors declare clearly that, although their texts might further the humanity of whites, it is for their own people that they have written their autobiographies. In the introduction to his text, Samuel Ward declares, "As a Negro, 1 live and therefore write for my people... if any one be disappointed or offended at that, I shall regret it; all the more, as it is impossible for me to say that, in like circumstances, I should not do just the same again."3 Ward's decision to write his autobiography was not his hope that the work would catapult him into fame or instant honor. Indeed, he does not consider his writing abilities adequate to solicit literary acclaim. He says, "The Work is not a literary one,

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for it is not written by a literary man; it is no more than its humble title indicates—the Autobiography of a Fugitive Negro."4 What he means by "fugitive" he says he will explain later in the text. Nevertheless, his hope is that the creation of this work will somehow jar African Americans into greater unity and social consciousness as they continue their striving for freedom and equality in America. Payne writes Recollections for similar reasons. As one born and reared in the South (Charleston, South Carolina), he knew the woes of his people first-hand and, although free, he lived alongside those for whom bondage was the extent of their existence. His desire was that his book would further the anti-slavery cause and bring about the destruction of the American oppression of its black citizenship. Yet, more importantly, Payne hoped that his text would inspire other blacks—especially youth—to better themselves educationally and spiritually in order that they might aid in the uplifting of the race, and to fulfill one of the fourfold aims of the work, gave his compiler (or editor) the following charge: [C]hoose such material as will best exhibit [Payne's] character, his piety, his life-long devotion to the cause of education, his orphan childhood after being "thrice consecrated to the Lord's service," his lowly beginning, trials, and straggles, and his subsequent exaltation, victories, and honors—so that such an example may prove an incentive to the children and youth (emphasis mine).5 In case some readers doubt the authenticity of the work as a result of the compiler's role, it is said in the introduction that: No liberties have been taken except in omissions, in order to avoid unnecessary repetition or too minute detail or too personal reference, and in connecting the whole into a continuous narrative from the present stand-point of time, even sacrificing smoothness of narrative at times in the endeavor to reproduce the exact wording found in these daily records. The volume has been submitted to [Payne] for review, and takes its place as personal memoirs, with his full approbation and approval of the material contained within and the disposition made of it.6

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So we entertain no doubt that Recollections is Payne's own work, complete with his own set of objectives, not the least of which is his desire for the work to inspire black children to overcome the obstacles of racism and discrimination in America as they secure those skills necessary to affect a better quality of life, both for themselves and their people. As with their literary harbingers, Ward and Payne begin their narratives by speaking of their fathers and the impact they had on their lives as men. Payne was only five years old when his father died, yet he remembers him quite well. It is apparent that his father loved him dearly; Payne recalls that his father's entire preoccupation in life was his son's well-being. He attributes his successes in life to the discipline his father instilled in him and remembers until his dying days the firm-though loving—hand with which his father dealt with him. He remarks: [My father] was a faithful observer of family worship; and often his morning prayers and hymns aroused me, breaking my infant sleep and slumbers. He taught me the alphabet and my monosyllables, and I remember that once he whipped me for neglecting my lessons.7 This memory is especially nostalgic for Payne because his educational achievements are inspired by his father's early emphasis on education. His academic successes serve as his ticket out of poverty and ignorance and allow him to understand the dynamics of American racism. Through this recognition, racism could not limit the perception of his own possibilities. The cultivation of his mind allows him to circumvent barriers intended for the black male, barriers which would hinder his attainment of manhood. As we shall see, Payne inextricably links educational status to his concept of manhood, an idea initiated in him by his father. His association of physical freedom and manhood also evidences paternal influence, for Payne notes proudly that his father was a slave "until he reached manhood, when he purchased hisfreedomfor one thousand dollars."8 So manhood and freedom were inseparable in Payne's psyche, to the extent that he believed a male could never be a man while enslaved. Samuel Ward also speaks of the impact of his paternal legacy. He notes, with a tone of celebration, that his father was of African blood:

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His father stands as his example of manhood for the duration of his days. When the trials of being a free black man in America begin to weigh Ward down, he calls upon the memory of his father to propel him forward. About his father, Ward suggests: [H]ad [my father] been educated, free, and admitted to the social privileges in early life for which nature fitted him, and for which even slavery could not, did not, altogether unfit him, my poor crushed, outraged people would never have had nor needed a better representation of themselves—a better specimen of the black gentleman.10 But the politics of the American social fabric of the 19th century does not allow Ward's father, an ex-slave, true liberty and the pursuit of happiness. The most he can do is to assure that Samuel is afforded some of the opportunities he was not. He and his wife escape the plantation when Samuel is still a baby and move to New York, where, they hope, his life will have more meaning and purpose than theirs. (This is why Ward refers to himself as a fugitive.) Ward leams of this parental commitment to him in his adult years and praises God for parents with such a vision. Like Payne's father, Ward's father also inspires him to secure a good education for himself, believing that, as one wealthy slave owner put it, "What makes the difference between the master and the slave? Nothing but superior knowledge."11 At some point in his life, Ward certainly knows that his knowledge exceeds his father's; yet he never refers to him as "ignorant" or even "unlearned." Instead, he holds his father in great esteem and practically deifies him upon his death. As a child, Ward hears stories about his father's plantation saga which cause him to blame the institution of slavery for the deplorable condition of

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black men throughout the United States. He remembers one story from his mother in which his father, "for some trifling mistake or fault, was stabbed [by his captor] in thefleshypart of his arm, with a penknife: the wound was the entire length of the knife blade."12 The anger these horror stories generate in Ward can hardly be contained. He hates the reality of enslavement, the belief by whites that their lives are more valuable than those of the Africans. He becomes incensed when he thinks about how his father was brutalized by whites after having done them no wrong. His mother tells him of an instance when his father "received a severe flogging, which left his back in so wretched a state that [she] was obliged to take peculiar precaution against mortification."13 Truths of this nature lead Ward to proclaim very early in life that "among the heaviest of my maledictions against slavery is that which it deserves for keeping my poor father-and many like him--in the midnight and dungeon of the grossest ignorance."14 He never forgives American planters for what they did to black men and their manhood, and his autobiography stands as evidence that he is not ashamed to give voice to his rage. It seems appropriate at this point to note that, in every narrative heretofore consulted, the black male concept of manhood has been linked—in one way or another—to father-son relationships. This would suggest that, at least prior to the twentieth century, African American men—whether bond or free—understood the significance of a father to a boy's maturation and development of a healthy, self-sustaining concept of manhood. These celebrated father-son bonds dispel the notion of the historically-absent black father and cause readers to wonder if, in fact, a revision of the black father tradition in America is not long overdue.15 The intimacy which seems apparent in most of the relationships might also impel scholars to re-examine the myth of the hard, cold, work-driven black father who does little more for his children, especially his sons, than provide their physical needs. Yet most importantly, I hope that this investigation of the impact of father-son relationships on a boy's concept of manhood will cause more contemporary black fathers to understand—to a much greater degree—that their presence in the home is not optional, especially if they desire sons to lead productive lives and to manifest an idea of manhood which is positive both for themselves and others. Black fatherhood must once again be seen as a privilege, a blessing. Men must understand the role as an opportunity for them to influence the lives of black boys such that distorted notions of manhood—those which ruin the lives of men and women alike—can be eradicated.

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Nonetheless, Ward and Payne are taught from their youth that the best way for a black man in America to secure his manhood is through education. The belief was that knowledge was power and that it opened doors which otherwise remained closed. So Ward and Payne dedicate their lives to the attainment of knowledge, though not always through formal means. Ward recalls that his first formal education took place at a public school in New York where he was favored by Mr. C.C. Andrew and Mr. Adams, the Quaker instructors. He loved to read and he learned quickly. His parents were pleased, for he seemed to be on the road to success. Certainly his journey would not be as joyous as the little white boys', but the end result was supposed to elevate him to a revered status. Times were hard for free black families in New York in the early 19th century, so young Samuel has to work to help keep the family fed. But this poses no threat to his academic pursuit. He says, "Poverty compelled me to work, but inclination led me to study."16 And he studies hard. Yet soon the discrimination and unexplainable hatred he encountersfromwhites make him doubt whether knowledge alone will afford him those goods his parents speak of. He says angrily: Some white persons wonder at and condemn the tone in which some of us blacks speak of our oppressors. Such persons talk as if they knew but little of human nature, and less of Negro character, else they would wonder rather that, what with slavery and Negro-hate, the mass of us are not either depressed into idiocy or excited into demons.17 Ward continues his studies, nevertheless, having been encouraged by one George Atkinson Ward, Esq. (no apparent relation) to "persevere in spite of Negro-hate."18 At age 16, he becomes a clerk for Thomas L. Jennings, Esq., a very respected black lawyer in New York whom he refers to as "one of the most worthy of the coloured race."19 After this job, his academic career becomes sketchy. He mentions working as editor and proprietor of two newspapers in which he invested his entire life savings. Yet, eventually, his efforts fail. So by age 30 or thereabout, he forces himself to accept the reality that formal education will not rescue the black man from societal degradation and poverty. Ward notes that he studied law for some time, triinking that such knowledge would be useful in the managing of his newspapers. However, when they fold, so does

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his desire for formal education. He is bitter about his failure and comments that "after smattering away, or teaching, law, medicine, divinity, and public lecturing, I am neither lawyer, doctor, teacher, divine, nor lecturer."20 He feels compelled to make the following resolution: "1 am glad to hasten back to what my father first taught me, and from what 1 never should have departed—the tilling of the soil, the use of the hoe."21 Ward has no choice, he concludes, but to return to the land. Farming seems to be the safest career for a black man to pursue, for the earth does not discriminate her yield on the basis of color. He is obviously pessimistic about the value of education for black Americans and ends his discussion of his schooling with these words: I offer to all young men three items of advice, which my own experience has taught me:— 1. Find your own appropriate place of duty. 2. When you have found it, by all means keep it. 3. If ever tempted to departfromit, return to it as speedily as possible.22 Exactly what Ward means here is unclear. Yet his belief that formal education is not the key to success for black men in America is unmistakable. In fact, he seems to suggest that a black man would do well simply to lead a very basic existence, one which does not include the chasing of foolish dreams such as education might engender. He realizes that a learned black man is no better off than any other in America. Indeed, the belief that education makes the black man equal to the white man is, in Ward's own words, "preposterous—too absurd to be seriously entertained."23 Although Daniel Payne is a bit more successful in his educational endeavors, in the end he too concurs that education does not necessarily further the black male quest for manhood. Nevertheless, as a child, he is very optimistic. His favorite pastime is reading. Every spare moment is spent with a book, whether new or used. His parents convince him that he can do well if he possesses sufficient academic skills, and Payne becomes the top pupil in his class. As a youngster, he remembers, "I resolved to devote every moment of leisure to the study of books, and every cent to the purchase of them. I raised money by making tables, benches, clothes-horses, and Dorset-bones,' which I sold on Saturday night in the public market."24 Around age 12 or so, Payne's father apprentices him to a carpenter,

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undoubtedly safeguarding against the possibility of him having "book knowledge" and yet no trade whereby he could make a living. However, by this point, young Daniel is consumed with the prospect of formal education: During my apprenticeship I would eat my meals in a few minutes and spend the remainder of the hour allowed me at breakfast and dinner in reading. After the day's work was done I perused my books till nearly twelve o'clock; and then, keeping a tinder-box, flint, steel, and candle at my bedside, I would awake at four, strike a light, and study till six, when my daily labors began. Thus I went on reading book after book, drawing pictures with crayon, and now and then composing verses. In my nineteenth year I forsook the carpenter's trade for the life of an educator.25 And Payne takes education seriously. In 1829, he opens his own school wherein he teaches free black children during the day and adult slaves at night. His earnings are so meager, however, that he is forced to close the school at the end of one year. Later he concludes that he has abandoned his dream too easily. He asks himself, "In abandoning the school-room am I not fleeing from the cross which the Savior has imposed upon me? Is not the abandonment of the teacher's work in my case a sin?"26 He answers in the affirmative and re-opens his school in 1830. This time, he works twice as hard to make the little black school a success. First, he decides that the curriculum must be all-encompassing. He wants his students to know everything, to be exposed to the gamut of intellectual possibilities. So Payne prepares himself to lead his students to academic renown. His family possesses no money to send him to college, so Payne teaches himself. And he does so in a most amazing fashion. History, geography, and spelling are his best subjects, for they were taught to him in grammar school. However, he recognizes that English, math, and science are critical disciplines for him to master if his school and his students are to thrive. Therefore, he masters these areas. And he does so practically overnight. About English he says: 1 began with "Murray's Primary Grammar," [sic] and committed the entire book to memory, but did not understand it; so I reviewed it. Then light sprung up; still I felt like one in a dungeon who beheld

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a glimmer of light at a distance, and with steady but cautious footsteps moved toward it, inspired by the hope that I would soon find its source and come out into the full blaze of animated day. I then made a second review of it, and felt conscious of my power to teach it. I therefore added that to my curriculum.27 He then proceeds to study botany, chemistry, natural philosophy, and descriptive astronomy. He even teaches his students zoology, about which he notes: [A] s I could never get hold of any work on this science I had to make books for myself. This I did by killing such insects, toads, snakes, young alligators, fishes, and young sharks as I could catch. I then cleaned and stuffed those that I could, and hung them upon the walls of my school-room.28 Payne is thoroughly convinced that these subjects will distinguish his school from all other black schools, not only in South Carolina but in the entire United States. He also believes that a strong academic background will ensure that his—and his male students'—manhood will be respected by all, regardless of color.29 Fortunately, his school thrives, and the boys' enthusiasm to learn becomes the talk of Charleston, South Carolina. In fact, the enrollment increases so rapidly that Payne does not have the space to accommodate so many pupils. Yet he sacrifices time and finances to invest in these boys1 manhood by teaching them those skills which will enable them to command jobs and respect once they leave home. Certainly their road will not be easy; yet Payne believes that an educated black man will not suffer the same blows to his manhood as an uneducated one. If nothing else, a learned black man will not be treated as the ignorant, helpless brute America believes most black men to be. He will not be belittled by those—especially whites—whose knowledge might normally exceed his own, Payne contends. However, a racist, white America soon discloses Payne's naivete. In December of 1834, the South Carolina General Assembly passed the following bill:

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148 No. 2639

An Act to Amend the Law Relating to Slaves and Free Persons of Color

Be it enacted by the honorable, the Senate and the House of Representatives, now met and sitting in General Assembly, and by the authority of the same: If any person shall hereafter teach any slave to read or write, or cause, or procure any slave to read or write, such person, if a free white person, upon conviction thereof shall for each and every offense against this Act be fined not exceeding one hundred dollars and imprisoned not more than six months; or, if a free person of color, shall be whipped not exceeding fifty lashes and fined not exceeding fifty dollars, at the discretion of the court of magistrates and freeholders before which such person of color is tried; and if a slave, to be whipped at the discretion of the courts, not exceeding fifty lashes: the informer to be entitled to one-half of the fine, and to be a competent witness. And if any free person of color or slave shall keep any school or other place of instruction for teaching any slave or free person of color to read or write, such free person of color or slave shall be liable to the same fine, imprisonment, and corporal punishment as are by this Act imposed and inflicted upon free persons of color and slaves for teaching slaves to read or write.30 Payne is devastated, to say the least. He has spent years in building his school in the belief that, due to their extraordinary education, his boys would lead lives unlike any African American males had to date. He has invested his life in the hope that education would unlock the door to manhood for black men in America. Yet this edict ruins that possibility. He must now close his school or suffer the above-outlined punishments for teaching black boys to read and write. That all of his pupils are free-born children means nothing. As "persons of color", they are viewed the same as their enslaved countrymen. More traumatic for Payne is the reality that under the law even whites cannot provide instruction for intellectually-thirsty black youth. To suggest that black teachers might incite black students into rebellion against the established order was at least believable; however, to forbid white teachers to instruct black children simply made no sense to Payne. In his analysis, he

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concluded that whites were determined to hinder—if not to stop altogether—the black man's progress. He decided that whites wanted black men to remain ignorant and "unrefined" so that they could always use and exploit them. Whites wanted black men as far away from serf-detenriination, self-esteem, and familial honor as was possible. And, most critically, they wantedfreeblack men to recognize that they were no closer to manhood than those males on the plantation. All of this serves as revelation for Daniel Payne. He now knows that education will not secure his manhood, for an educated black man would surely be seen as a threat to the law and order of the day. He would be deemed "dangerous," "uppity," "too smart for his own good." And he would probably find himself at the mercy of those with whom he hoped his education would make him equal. Payne definitely did not resolve that formal education was a bad idea for black men in America but, rather, that the attainment thereof would not be celebrated by the larger dominant society. He concludes that for a black man to depend upon his academic achievements for respect and social mobility would now be foolish. America does not support the notion of an intelligent black man, one whose sense of self, whose manhood is intact. Because education is all that Payne can boast at this point, the amendment destroys his faith that his manhood will ever be respected. He declares, "Sometimes it seemed as though some wild beast had plunged his fangs into my heart, and was squeezing out its life-blood."31 He wonders, "If [God] does exist, is he just? If so, why does he suffer one race to oppress and enslave another, to rob them by unrighteous enactments of rights, which they hold most dear and sacred?"32 Payne then writes a five-page poem entitled "The Mournful Lute, or the Preceptor's Farewell" which, he says, "was the safety-valve which let out the superabundant grief that would otherwise have broken my heart and sent me headlong to an untimely grave."33 He resolves that his only choice for survival is to go North where, he assumes, the black man can attain manhood with fewer obstacles. As Christians and, indeed, preachers, Payne and Ward cannot comprehend how a nation can purport to be God-fearing and yel deny the black man what every other man in the world enjoys—a celebrated sense of manhood. Upon receiving their calling, both perceive it their duty to preach

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the "unadulterated gospel," which includes the principle of liberty for all people. The conversion process which they experience prepares them to be spokesmen for universal equality in America. Daniel Payne notes that the Lord began to deal with him at a very young age, such that by his teenage years, he knew that he was destined for the pulpit. He remarks, "When I was only eight years old such was the effect of a sermon upon my young heart that 1 went home crying through the streets, and sought the garden and prayed."34 He implies that the Lord's calling him was as clear as any human voice and that he understood the Lord to have a great purpose for his life. He remembers that at age fifteen, "these impressions were so great that I could no longer cast them off amid my youthful sports, as in former times."35 The idea of the Holy Spirit or God moving upon one's heart was not new to Daniel Payne, for his parents and his grandmother had been of the religious order and had taught him that nothing could be greater than committing one's self to the Master's service. He was told later in life that his mother and father had, in fact, dedicated him to God while he was only a few days old. So by age 18, he is ready to enter the ministry. Says he: Here I too gave him my whole heart, and instantly felt thai peace which passeth all understanding and that joy which is unspeakable and full of glory. Several weeks after this event,...! was in my humble chamber, pouring out my prayers into the listening ears of the Savior, when I felt as if the hands of a man were pressing my two shoulders and a voice speaking within my soul saying: '1 have set thee apart to educate thyself in order that thou may est be an educator to thy people'.36 Needless to say, Payne accepts his calling. But not simply to preach about the Bible. Rather, he understands his ministry also to include the uplifting of his people. His desire is that the pulpit will afford him the context from which he can teach his people to become self-sufficient and self-affirming. Yet racism keeps his relationship with God troubled, for he cannot see why a Great, Merciful Lord would allow one race of people to hold another underfoot. At times, he even appears to question the existence of God. One day, Payne wonders aloud:

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If he does exist, is he just? If so, why does he suffer one race to oppress and enslave another, to rob them by unrighteous enactments of rights, which they hold most dear and sacred? Sometimes I wished for the law-makers what Nero wished—' that the Romans had but one neck.' I would be the man to sever the head from its shoulders.37 Of course this line of thinking conflicts with what he has been taught as the "Christian way," so instead of feeding his fury, Payne falls on his knees and prays that God will rid him of the hatred he feels in his heart. But he does noi pray long. He concludes that "faith without works is dead" and goes on to preach at various churches in the North, urging his congregations to be bold in the Lord and to stand up for their rights. His theology includes his belief that "If he that oppresseth the poor reproacheth his Maker, how great must be the reproach cast upon the Infinite when one man oppresses another on account of the color which distinguishes him from his fellow-mortals!"38 Samuel Ward accepts his calling at age 16 and also assumes that his sermons should address more than that which is strictly Biblical. Like Payne, he is often so overcome by racism and the difficulty of retaining any sense of manhood in America that he sometimes questions God's seeming unconcern about his black children. He asks, "What sort of Christ is he who, while professing to die for the race, authorizes the exclusion of the coloured portion thereof—at least three fourths—from the commonest benefits of his salvation?"39 Moreover, he wonders: What is the character of that God who, giving a moral code from Sinai,rightin thefitnessof things, as well as because an emanation from himself and a transcript of his will, but who authorizes one fourth of those upon whom he makes that law binding to violate and trample under foot every precept and principle of that code, touching the other three fourths of their fellow men?40 Ward refuses to accept the image of God which prevails among white Christians, believing ultimately that they must serve a different God than he. His God is one who supports the real liberation of his people, and this is the God he preaches about. The idea that the Bible supports the oppression of

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black people is erroneous to Ward although he never preaches hatred of those who would say as much.41 He simply believes that a people's religion ought to reinforce their sense of self. He also knows, however, that, due to racism and outright abuse, it is very difficult for a black person to be a Christian in America. He explains: How frequently have I heard a Negro exclaim, "I cannot like a white man. He and his have done so much injury to me and my people for so many generations." How difficult, how impossible, to deny this, with all its telling force of historical fact! How natural is such a feeling, in such circumstances! How richly the whites deserved it!42 Yet, because of his love for God, he pleads with his fellow black Christians to remember their own infirmities and the price Christ paid for all mankind on the cross. During those moments when his manhood is publicly jeered, he retreats into his prayer closet and begs God to help him retain his composure. Without such assistance, Ward would surely have secured his own revenge, and although, in the end, he might have paid dearly for his actions, a demonstration of his manhood would certainly have been sweet. As one reads further into Ward's and Payne's personal memoirs, it becomes apparent that God functions as more than their creator and spiritual guide. Indeed, it seems as though He becomes their example of true manhood. God is the All-Powerful, the Almighty, the one who possesses the strength and the courage to right the world's wrongs. His virility is never challenged, and his reputation as provider and protector is well-established. He is respected by all who know Him, and, in most cases, revered, for He gave the world His most prized possession—his only begotten Son—to demonstrate his love for humanity. That He is assumed male and attributed these qualities makes Him the "Ultimate Man,"43 for they understand Him to be so great that, one day, even the white man will bow before Him in submission. Psychologically speaking, black men of the early 19th century needed to believe in a powerful, omnipotent, loving God, one who fought on their behalf during their moments of weakness. Such a theology kept them from concluding that they were totally helpless and gave them hope that "Father" would one day avenge their abuse, interestingly enough, the qualities they

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attributed to God were also the ones they sought for themselves; yet due to the racial climate of the times, black men were unable to enjoy the goods of manhood as they would have liked. Therefore, they celebrated in their God a kind of "manliness" which kept them optimistic about their own, for, one day, they would be like Him. Yet until that day arrived, the best that black men-free or enslaved—could do was to drown themselves in the rhetoric of hope. Religion provided for men a context in which their social reality could be temporarily escaped. Indeed, while in the presence of God, the struggle for manhood could be abandoned, for every adult male was a man in the eyes of the Lord. He was one before whom black men need not attempt to prove themselves. One's shortcomings, failures, humiliations, and tears were wiped away—as the rhetoric goes—when one approached the throne of God and replaced with strength, pride, dignity, and the will to endure. If God accepted a man without reservation and affirmed his sense of manhood, who cared what earthly men thought? So religion/God/Christianiry provided 19th century black men with a refuge to which they could turn anytime they felt inadequate. And whether in New York or Georgia, it seems as though black men utilized this balm often. The hypocrisy Ward and Payne find among white Christians convinces them that black preachers must study the Word of God for themselves or be misled by white theologians into believing that the white man is God's chosen elect. Ward notes that a white Congregational clergyman of Connecticut once told him, n[W]ere Christ living in a house capable of holding two families, [H]e would object to a black family in the adjoining apartments."44 Of course, this is idiocy to Ward, who believes that whites will ultimately pay for misrepresenting the Kingdom of God. While reflecting on another experience, Ward says: fWJhen I went to the house of God, as it was called, 1 found all the Negro-hating usages and sentiments of general society there encouraged and embodied in the Negro pew, and in the disallowing Negroes to commune until all the whites, however poor, low, and degraded, had done. I know of more than one coloured person driven to the total denial of all religion, by the religious barbarism of white New Yorkers and other Northern champions of the slaveholder.45

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For this reason, Ward encourages all blacks—not just preachers— to read the Bible for themselves so that they will not accept a religious ideology which teaches that they are inferior. He pleads with his brethren not to abandon the struggle for liberty and justice in America simply because white preachers proclaim that the status quo is ordained by God. Ward understands that the black male struggle for manhood includes his parallel struggle for a belief system which supports his efforts to achieve manhood. He criticizes white Christians for upholding an ideology which would lead blacks into believing that the condition of their lives is as God would have it. He remarks, "Northern pulpit orators defend slavery from the Bible, the Old Testament and the New; and this is not true of one here and there only, it is so of the most learned, most distinguished of them, of all denominations."46 Payne encounters similar hypocrisyfromwhite Christians and also notes its destructive potential to the black community. Because he is more naive than Ward, his encounters with white Christians who hate black people almost brings him to tears. How could one love God and yet despise his brother, Payne wonders. He never finds an answer. However, once he accepts the fact as part of the American social reality, he becomes its greatest critic. He sneers at the state of Connecticut: [Civil War] veteran troops had returned to their homes not to rejoice in the triumph of liberty over slavery, of justice over injustice, but to find themselves insulted and outraged by the vote of Connecticut against their enfranchisement. "O Connecticut, where was thy boasted Christianity?"47 He begins to lose faith in America as a place where black men will ever be recognized as the white male's equal. He, like Paul Cuffe, the celebrated black entrepreneur from Massachusetts, is forced to recognize that "to most white men, blacks were members of a despised and innately inferior race, and consequently it was widely believed that when in close and constant contact the two races of necessity created a 'mutual antipathy'."48 The never-ending battle for respected manhood causes Payne to become so bitter at times that he can barely contain his anger. About white Americans, especially Christians, Payne says emphatically:

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Well might the heathen send missionaries to teach thee justice and gratitude! The most consummate fool, crimson-dyed murderer, the vilest traitor—Booth himself—fit to wield the elective franchise, but he who was good enough to face danger and death to sustain the American Union, no matter how noble in native talent, how profound in learning and heavenly in piety, was unfit to vote if he wore over his manhood a black skin.49 (emphasis mine) Eventually, Payne relinquishes the hope that white Americans, as a whole, will ever embrace African Americans. As a free born black man, he also realizes that his blackness means more in America than any other aspect of his being. When white Christians insult his manhood to the same degree as non-Christians, he finally understands that the color of his skin—not his religious piety-is that which determines his place in America. Given this, he agrees with a friend that "unless military commanders of a decided and uncompromising anti-slavery character were sent to control the South for several years, the condition of thefreedmenwould be a deplorable one—little better, if not worse, than slaves."50 Payne needs no one to convince him of this. Both he and Ward would testify that there was a very thin line separating the free from the enslaved black male. And, at times, there seemed to be no line at all. Certainly that line was not the Mason-Dixon line. For both Payne and Ward note extensively that life in the North was no better for black men than life in the slave-holding South. In fact, anyone who believes that the black male struggle for manhood was somehow less severe for free men in the North is terribly incorrect. They, too, had to endure the abuse—physical and verbal—of whites without means of retaliation and often were forced to relinquish their will to satisfy the desire of the dominant culture. They were as much a part of the racial discourse of the times as enslaved blacks, and in some ways posed a greater threat to the status quo, for, technically, they did not belong to anyone other than themselves; consequently, it was much more difficult to maintain control over them. Yet whites had their ways of reminding "free" black men that they were not as free as they thought. For example, while aboard a vessel bound from New York to London, Payne remarks:

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He realizes that America does not perceive him much better than a slave—a realization which keeps him praying that God will move upon the hearts of this "sin-filled" country and hurry the day when all men shall be treated equally and every man's manhood afforded the same level of respect. But Payne never sees that day. Instead, his days are filled with humiliation and insult as America warns him not to think too highly of himself simply because he is physically free. Once Payne becomes Bishop of the A.M.E. church, his struggle for manhood does not end. In fact, the honor and prestige the position affords means nothing to the dominant power structure which still sees him as "just another nigga." Payne recalls the experience which brought this truth alive in his psyche, when he and afriendembarked on a train journey to the South: We were asked whether we wished accommodations in the sleeper, and we replied in the affirmative. Our berths were assigned us and we took possession. Shortly we noticed a white man promenading up and down the car, and soon after the conductor ordered us out. [My friend] remonstrated, and asked if they would expel such a man as Bishop Payne. This had no effect. Both conductor and porter seized me by the collar, the white man pushed me from behind, and thus 1 was forced from the sleeper and ushered into the smoking-car. As this was done a Southerner from Tennessee remarked:' That is right; we don't allow niggers in our country, in Tennessee, to ride in cars with us white men.'52 Payne is not surprised that whites do not like him, but rather that his achievements mean absolutely nothing to them. He determines that his "free"

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status means that although he has no particular captor, all white men play the role at will. He could possibly have filed a complaint against the railroad company, but to what end? Surely they would not have honored his word over a white man's. He had lived long enough to know that. So he does what other black men do—swallows his pride and accepts the affront leveled against his manhood as part of the social reality of being a black man in America. On another occasion later in life, Bishop Payne decides to travel to Florida at the request of Bishop Wayman, a white man, to attend the East Florida Conference held at Feraandina. His aim is to go by steamer, for he knew how black men were treated by the railway system. However, Bishop Wayman assures him that he will be treated fairly by the Jacksonville and Feraandina Railroad because he (Wayman) had previously seen to the matter. Trusting Wayman's words, Payne purchases his first-class ticket and boards the car. The train leaves the station, and it seems as though all is well until the conductor calls for the tickets. Payne reports: He examined mine and said: "This is not your seat." "Where is my seat?" I asked. "In the front car." "Why?" "Because there are no accommodations for colored people except in that car." "I'll not dishonor my manhood by going into that car," I replied. He repeated the same statement. "Then," said I, "before I'll dishonor my manhood by going into that car, stop your train and put me off." "I'll put you off at the next stopping-place," he returned.53 And the conductor keeps his word. Payne is left to walk all the way back to Jacksonville from some small town several miles away. He considers this event "one of the greatest outrages to which 1 have been subjected."54 He never mentions whether or not Bishop Wayman fought on his behalf to save him from his imminent embarrassment, although his tone suggests that Wayman might not have said anything at all. Payne does say, however, that, upon hearing of the atrocity, the whole body of the East Florida Conference "went to the superintendent of the road in relation to the matter, asking under

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what instructions the conductor acted." The superintendent replied, "Mine."55 So there was nothing more to be done. Payne's long march back to Jacksonville—complete with heavy luggage—gave him sufficient time to reflect on his existence as a free black man in America. Among other things, he realizes that he is not free. He comes to understand that his confidence and self-esteem are constantly challenged by those who would have him believe himself inferior simply because he is black. More importantly, he recognizes along this journey that, in America, manhood is not for the black male to enjoy, whether slave or free. That he has acquired a level of learning that few white males can equal or that he holds one of the highest and most prestigious positions in the A.M.E. church: these achievements become irrelevant once he enters the American social sphere. He is forced to come to terms with the reality that his manhood can be—and is—insulted and trivialized so often that it seems useless even to aspire to. He has attempted to climb the "mountain of manhood" with such little success that, at this point, he decides that maybe black men should just make the best of the "valley." Fortunately, his resilience eventually restores his faith in himself and God, but his fantasy of the "Free Black Male" is gone forever. Says he, "neither beauty of person nor grandeur of intellect nor varied culture can exempt any man or woman from the ostracism of Americans if he or she be tainted with one drop of the blood of Noah's second son."56 Samuel Ward appears even more distraught than Payne al the prospect that he is not really free. He grows up in New York and declares that the only difference between him and his Southern brethren is that he does not live on a plantation. He says vehemently that he tried to shield his younger brotherfrom"the thousand snares and the ten thousand forms of cruelty and injustice which the unspeakably cruel prejudice of the whites visits upon the head and the heart of every black young man, in New York."57 But of course he is unable to do so, for he soon realizes that a black male cannot exist in America without being confronted by racism, it is simply too widespread, too much a part of the country's identity. So he matures with the hope that, through education and spiritual intervention, slavery will be abolished and the quality of life for all African Americans elevated. However, his dreams are crushed by the nightmare of reality. In retrospect, Ward says about his childhood that, "added to poverty, however, in the case of a black lad in [New York], is the ever-present, ever-crushing,

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Negro-hate, which hedges up his path, discourages his efforts, damps his ardour, blasts his hopes, and embitters his spirits."58 He contends that whites in the North are no less racist than whites in the South and that the black man in the North is afforded no more respect simply because he is supposedly "free": in but five of the American States are coloured [free] persons allowed to vote on equal terms with whites. From social and business circles the Negro is entirely excluded—no, not that; he is not admitted—as a rule. Besides, in other slaveholding countries free Negroes are not treated thus, irrespective of character or condition. It is quite true that, as a rule, American slaveholders are the worst and the most cruel, both to their own mulatto children and to other slaves; it is quite true, that nowhere in the world has the Negro so bitter, so relentless enemies as are the Americans; but it is not because of the existence of slavery nor of the evil character or the lack of capacity on the part of the Negro. But, whatever is or is not the cause of it, there stands the fact; and this feeling is so universal that one almost regards ' American' and ' Negro-hater' as synonymous terms.59 This statement is certainly serious and loaded with anger. Ward abhors the fact that his "free" condition does not guarantee him the same rights and privileges as his white male counterpart. He is called "nigga" so often that the indignity becomes almost commonplace, reminding him that his skin color—not his social standing—functions as the basis of his socially-constructed identity in America. That the kindness he extends to whites is not reciprocated causes him to label them "debase" and "savage" while heralding African Americans as the keepers of humanity. Yet Ward does not categorize all whites as evil. For example, he says that the Rev. Beriah Green, President of Oneida Institute, was one of the kindest, most benevolent white persons he had ever met. Rev. Green demonstrated a "love for humanity, especially the poorest of the poor, of the most ardent type,"60 which Ward venerates. But what he appreciates most about Rev. Green is that he "put a higher estimate upon simple manhood" than any white man he had ever met. And Green certainly is the exception, for by the time Ward marries at age 21 his manhood has been so

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disrespected by other white men that he has difficulty believing himself capable of being an effective husband or father. He asserts early in life his belief that black manhood must pose a threat to white men who consciously retard its development and who utilize every available means to show black men that manhood is primarily a white male luxury. One of those means was the passing of the Fugitive Slave Law in 1850. Both Ward and Payne note that this bill made the battle for black manhood seem vain. In essence, it decreed that any slave who had escaped from bondage was, upon discovery, to be returned to his captor. Persons found assisting aiugitive would be punished. Black men now knew that an escape North was no longer a guarantee of their freedom. Indeed, their existence was now the more arduous, for runaways were compelled daily to camouflage themselves in an attempt not to be discovered. Needless to say, slave catching became a white male enterprise, the means by which many of them sought their livelihood. Consequently, black men were again at ground zero. Now, there was no place to which they could run where their manhood might possibly be respected. About the Fugitive Slave Law, Ward writes: [I]ts provisions abolished the inviolability of a man's house, person, and papers-the right to life, liberty, and property, without due process of law—the right of being confronted with one's accusers—the writ of habeas corpus—the necessity of a particular description of the place to be searched and the person to be seized—the right of trial by jury, and the right of appeal: each of which is solemnly and emphatically guaranteed by the constitution...and the prohibition of American freemen from doing aught to aid aflyingbrother man, threatened with re-enslavement!61 Yet what disturbs Ward most about the Fugitive Slave Law is his sudden recognition that, in practice, any black man could be captured and taken to the South as a fugitive, for how could one prove that he was free? Who would trust a black man's word over a white man's? Before the former was allowed the opportunity to defend himself, he could be stolen away from his family and forced to live the remainder of his days on a southern plantation. It did not matter that he was a husband, a father, or simply a northern advocate offreedom;his blackness alone qualified him to be captured and hauled away to the slave-holding South.

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The more Ward thinks of the evil of this bill, the more livid he becomes. Says he, "My private opinion is, that he who would have enslaved me would have "caught a Tartar": for my peace principles never extended so far as to either seek or accept peace at the expense of liberty..." ,62 His anger, however, does not allay his fear of the implications of this bill, not only for himself but for the entire black community. He notes that the idea of being re-enslaved once one has attainedfreedommust have been devastating and cause enough to make a black man (or woman) entertain suicide. He remembers the impact of this evil reality on his family when two of his cousins were returned to slavery after having escaped North: Two of my father's nephews, who had escaped to New York, were taken back in the most summary manner, in 1828. I never saw a family thrown into such deep distress by the death of any two of its members, as were our family by the re-enslavement of these two young men. Seven-and-twenty years have past, but we have none of us heard a word concerning them, since their consignment to the living death, the temporal hell, of American slavery.63 And once the Fugitive Slave Bill makes the returning of escapees mandatory, Ward recognizes that hunting season has now been officially opened by the U.S. government. He and his people become prey, running for their lives as white hunters seek "the species" for the worth of their hide—literally. It becomes increasingly difficult for a black man to secure aid from anyone in any endeavor, for the American public now fears the repercussions of assisting him. If he were a runaway, one would be punished for such support. Black men who helped each other now risked their own lives. The Fugitive Slave Law makes the black male the "Lone Ranger" in a very real sense. He could never forget—whether fugitive or nominally free—that there was a reward out for his capture and that no person, organization, or institution was able to plead his case. Frederick Douglass warns black Americans: [Slavery] has been called by a great many names, and it will call itself by yet another name; and you and I and all of us had better wait and see what new form this old monster will assume, in what new skin this old snake will come forth next.64

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When the Fugitive Slave bill is passed, Daniel Payne is deeply involved in writing a history of the A.M.E. church. However, the law so diverts his attention that he can do little more than 0(162 f its ramifications. Like Ward, Payne discerns that the law threatens the lives of all black Americans, slave orfree.And of course he is compelled to ask what the law means for himself. Although he does not expound upon his conclusion, it appears clear, for he decides "to see if Canada would be a safe asylum for our people."65 Much to his chagrin, he is forced to conclude that America never intends to allow its black citizenry a peaceful existence. The prospect that, one day, his manhood will be respected by whites as well as blacks seems to fade into oblivion. His faith that "not color of skin but achievements" will soon be the criterion whereby one"s manhood is esteemed in America now appears imprudent. Payne notes sadly that "the fugitive slave bill was then affecting our people, and all felt unsafe in the United States."66 His status as a free-born African American provides him no assurance that the law would protect his rights as a free man. In fact, Payne assumes that, if he is not careful, he could easily become a victim of the 1850 decision, and, unfortunately, his education and his ministerial commitment would grant him no escape. The impact of the Fugitive Slave Bill on the black male's quest for manhood in America has rarely—if ever—been assessed.67 To be sure, black men were forced to accept the fact that the accumulation of wealth, education, property, or public recognition does not improve the chance of one"s manhood being respected. They had to contend with the reality that freedom was only nominal and that enslavement or re-enslavement was only a slave-catcher away. Furthermore, black men, threatened with the prospect of being removed in an instant from their role as husband, father, provider, caretaker, and brother, had to reaffirm their position within the family which—to say the least—became tenuous. The notion of black manhood being rooted in performance is reinforced-although distorted-by the Fugitive Slave Act, for now the rite of passage into manhood is no longer one's performance in the home, but one"s performance in flight. Once the Fugitive Slave Bill becomes law, black men celebrate merely their ability to stay alive as evidence of their fortitude, their stamina, their intelligence. The emphasis on their ability to fulfill traditional male roles becomes secondary to winning the battle for personal survival. Such a transformation is profound in that their social milieu forces black men

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to become self-referential. They have no choice but to deem the keeping of their lives their primary objective in life. Unfortunately, however, the black male focus upon the self eventually results in his belief that his own welfare and his own pleasures are more important than those of anyone else, including other family members. He becomes seen as a "valued commodity" who needs the space and the time to deal with the reality of being black and in America. He needs to run with the boys; he needs to do something he enjoys regularly; he needs to be the center of his spouse's attention. His needs become the nucleus of his world, and, at least initially, many women support this orientation, believing that for a black man merely to be around is a blessing.68 This is not to suggest, however, that, due to the Fugitive Slave Law, black men slowly relinquished their commitment to the family; rather, the point is that, after the passing of the bill, the black male concept of manhood becomes more self-centered than it had been heretofore. Certainly this is logical; yet the long-range negative effects of this reality upon 20th century black male-female relationships and the black male's sense of responsibility to the home would be another struggle in and of itself. Notwithstanding, once Payne and Ward describe the evil implications of the bill, they both note that their commitment to the anti-slavery movement becomes the paramount focus of their lives. They begin to see that "slavery anywhere means slavery everywhere." And certainly they feel as though their lives offer no more glory than those of their enslaved brothers. Ward says that "God helping me wherever I shall be, at home, abroad, on land or sea, in public or private walks, as a man, a Christian, especially as a black man, my labours must be anti-slavery labours, because mine must be an anti-slavery life."69 He perceives that as long as slavery is condoned in any part of the United States all black people suffer from its diabolic presence, for they continue to be seen as debased persons lacking the intelligence and guidance to be considered on a par with whites. Even free persons of color are viewed simply as "the lucky ones" whom God deemed fit to place in a free state, although in the final analysis, they are attributed the same characteristics and treated in the same manner as blacks on the plantation. So Ward expends his entire adult life in combat against the American institution of slavery. When describing the cost of this commitment, he says:

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It cost me a great deal of effort and self-denial. My youthful wife and my infant boy I must leave, to go hundreds of miles, travelling in all weathers, meeting all sorts of people, combatting some of the most deeply seated prejudices, and in the majority of instances denied the ordinary courtesies of civilized life. 1 suffered more than can be here described. At length I considered that every Christian has not only a cross to bear, but his peculiar cross; and that God, not man, must judge and decide in what shape that cross must come: aye, and he too would give grace to bear it. Thus fortified, I went forth.70 Even before the Fugitive Slave Bill, Ward has an experience which convinces him that his duty to the anti-slavery vehicle is not optional. In essence, he attends an anti-slavery lecture given by Benjamin F. Hughes, whereupon a physical confrontation ensues between abolitionist black men and pro-slavery white men. The black men are clearly the victors, but they are also the ones blamed for initiating the disturbance and are thrown into jail. During that moment, Ward says, "My oath of allegiance to the anti-slavery cause was taken in that cell...That imprisonment initiated me into the anti-slavery fraternity."71 Daniel Payne also belongs to that fraternity. He cites the following passage found one day on a tombstone in Boston as marking his dedication to the anti-slavery crusade: Where now beneath his burden The toiling slave is driven, Where now a tyrant" s mockery Is offered up to heaven: Then shall his praise be spoken, Redeemed from falsehood"s ban When the fetters shall be broken, And the slave shall be a man.72 Payne understands slavery to be little more than evidence of sin in America; therefore, as a preacher, he assumes it his duty to help eradicate this evil and to hurry the day when the black man "shall be a man." What Payne detests

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most about enslavement is that it "decreed [men] to the condition of half man and half brute."73 He cannot tolerate the idea that black people have no choice but to live the remainder of their days bowing in submission to white folk. So every chance afforded, Payne publicly condemns enslavement and discrimination and writes numerous articles on the subject of black self-determination. In his opinion, "[PJerhaps the greatest curse which slavery inflicted upon us was the destruction of the home."74 His aim is to help restore that sacred institution in the black community and to make America a place where manhood is every man's to obtain and enjoy. Payne never abandons his commitment. Death finally provides that place of rest where his manhood is secure, unfettered by the shackles of prejudice. After years of anti-slavery labour and its accompanying abuse, Samuel Ward decides that for a black man to seek manhood in America is simply inane. White Americans have too much vested interest in keeping the black man in his place to ever allow him any level of autonomy or honor. Ward decides to move to Canada after hearing that there men are judged according to character and not skin color. And many other black men follow him, as he relates: [W"|ith that restless and resistless desire for improvement which the coloured man in all parts of America is now making manifest, many of them "shake off the dust" of the persecuting cities of their native land, and come to [Canada). The condition, prospects, progress, enterprise, manhood, every way exhibited by this class, make them what they deserve to be, the esteemed of all classes whose good opinion is worth having.75 Yet an incident occurs which forces Ward to escape to Canada long before he had intended. Tension erupts in his home town of Syracuse, New York, concerning a young man (Jerry) who, "at the suit of his own father had been arrested under the Fugitive Law."76 However, Jerry escapes, is pursued, and is retaken. Yet the idea of his being returned to the South has the black community in an uproar. Ward is called upon by local citizens to hold a rally and speak out against the reality of "quasi-free"77 Negroes. He does so willingly. In fact, his speech is so powerful that the mob becomes mobilized:

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Dismantling Black Manhood ...at nine o' clock that evening, while the court was in session trying Jerry for more than his life, for his liberty, the mob without threw stones into the window, one of which came so near to the judge that, in undignified haste, he suddenly rose and adjourned the courts. In an hourfromthat time, the mob, through certain stalwart fellows whom the Government have never had the pleasure of catching, broke open the door and the side of the building where Jerry was, put out the lights, took him out in triumph, and bore him away where the slave-catchers never after saw him.78

Certainly Ward records this event as triumphal; yet because he is accused of being its initiator, he and his wife resolve that they must leave America immediately or Ward will surely pay dearly for his actions. They are not saddened, however, for Ward resolves: "[T]he only hopeful spot in the American horizon is the growing, advancing attitude of the black people. From the whites, as a whole, I see no hopes."79 So Canada becomes their home. Initially, Ward celebrates Canada as a place where "shackles fall" from the feet of black men.80 Indeed, he describes the country as a kind of Utopia for anyone seeking true freedom. He states, "[BJefore I knew it, 1 was preferring the right hand—the British—side of the St. Lawrence, and concluding thai on that side things were most inviting."81 He hardly knows what to do with his feelings of Canadian patriotism and soon asks himself, "What gave me a fellow feeling with those inhabitants?" The answer: "[S]imply the fact, that that country had become to me, in a sense in which no country ever was before, my own, and those people my fellow citizens."82 Never before had Ward existed in a place where he felt that his manhood was not under siege. In fact, he refers to the black male flight to Canada as "the leap to Manhood": That "leap" transforms himfroma marketable chattel to a free man. Hence that "leap" is far more sublime than the plunge of the Niagara River from its natural bed to the deep, deep receptacle of its voluminous waters, far below. But when it is remembered how much of difficulty the poor American slave has to encounter, in preparing for his escape, and in making it-how every step of the way is beset with peril and threatening disaster—then one could see

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in that "leap" so much of the consummation of long and fondly cherished hope, hope nurtured on the very brink of despair, so much of real true manhood, as to give better insight into its real sublimity than a mere causal glance could afford. To the better feelings of our common manhood, it is most gratifying to see a man madefreeby an effort of peaceful though energetic heroism; but to know how much that effort has cost him, is more gratifying still.83 This metaphor of the leap to manhood becomes the primary reason, according to Ward, that "fugitives coming to Canada are, the majority of them, young, single men. Many more young than old, many more male than female."84 His guess is that the prospect of being respected as a man attracts black men to Canada much like a magnet attracts metal. He notes that, upon their arrival, they seem to assume a different air about themselves; they exhibit a dignity and a mutual respect which makes black communities in Canada the ideal place for black men to reside. Payne also marvels at the respect black men receive in Canada. Although he never moves there, he visits often enough to herald it as a country where black men enjoy manhood almost to the same extent as their fellow British brethren. During one visit, he records the following: 1 went to see the school of the "Colonial Church and School Society." This school contained four hundred pupils, about eighty of whom were colored. The system was Lancastrian; and the children were advanced to the rank of monitors—according to their qualifications, not their color. In the male school I saw two monitors—boys of color—each drilling a class in which but one pupil was colored; and the white lads seemed to be as happy as those whose monitors were white."85 Yet Payne and Ward are careful to note that black men were not without problems in Canada. They faced prejudice there, too, although it was usually not as savage as American racism. Ward notes that, "In many cases, a black person travelling, whatever may be his style and however respectable his appearance, will be denied a seat at table d[ hote at a country inn, or on a steamer; and in a case or two coming under my own observation, such have been denied any sort of entertainment whatever."86

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Canada is not celebrated by Ward and Payne as the black male's heaven, but as a place where, compared to America, men have many fewer obstacles to overcome in their quest for manhood. But unlike Ward, Payne believes it his duty to stay in America and fighl for equal opportunities for his people. He does so primarily via the A.M.E. church and his role in founding and perpetuating Wilberforce University. Until his dying day, he comments that his struggle to be a man in America yields littlefruit.He becomes so pessimistic in his old age that he eventually wonders if the white oppression of blacks is not the design of nature. He says: I am reminded here, by recollection of this and other evidences of prejudice, of an incident which I had noted, wherein is well illustrated how the strong ones of earth destroy the weak, and how the powerful races prey upon the feeble. A "hobby-horse," as some people call the insect, or a "Johnny-cock-horse," as others call it, was in a cluster of dahlias, so closely planted as to seem but one bush or plant. Suddenly he seized a small butterfly which came within his reach, and inclosing it in his long, front, crab-like arms, he began to eat off its head. This was rapidly done; then he began to eat its body, and when he reached a wing he scraped it off with his tight claw and threw it away. Then he proceeded until the beautiful little butterfly was consumed...! said to myself again: "how the strong ones of the earth destroy the weak, and how the powerful races pray upon the feeble! Life is maintained by the destruction of life."87 Having lived his entire days as a black man in America, Payne understood well that, regardless of his efforts, he would always be relegated by whites to the realm of the feeble, the less-than, the inferior. He had come to realize that the black male pursuit of autonomy and manhood was the leading cause of disillusionment and death among 19th century black men. And even those men who knew themselves to be free still lived in fear of those who possessed the power to negatively alter their existence. So, in the end, both Ward and Payne have little faith that America will ever love and nurture its black children. They concur that, as far as white Americans are concerned, "What is a Negro made for, but to be kicked about

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for a white man's convenience?"88 They devote their lives to the anti-slavery cause in hopes of assisting their brothers—and themselves—in their pursuit of manhood. Whether a slave to the plantation or to the American public (as mostfreemenwere), they understood that "the day that makes a man a slave takes half his worth away."89 And that sense of worth was what free black men sought most sincerely in life. They wanted the same praise and admiration from their families and the larger society that their white male counterparts enjoyed. They assumed that their physical freedom alone would afford them such honor. They were wrong. Free black men of the early 1800s soon realized that America had devised enough institutional and social machinations to keep blacks enslaved for a very long time. Consequently, even the free black man's pursuit of manhood proved futile. But by the 19th century, what had the concept of manhood come to mean to black men? At one point, it was confined to their role in the home and their performance in the community. Yet once transplanted to America in chains, their concept of manhood became inextricably bound to the ability to secure freedom via escape. Then, years of plantation existence and exploitation distorted the concept with notions of sexuality and sexual performance, and it acquired a phallocentric nature. By the time we meet Ward and Payne, both free men of color, the concept of black manhood seems to be rooted in the male's desire for respect, autonomy, and agency. Albert Alison Whitman, a distinguished black male poet of the early 19th century, believed that "nothing should rank higher in [a man's] hierarchy of values than that [man"s] pride in himself."90 Whitman is the author of a book-length poem entitled Not a Man and Yet a Man, wherein the protagonist, "while he is a slave and even while he is not, suffers the indignity of a denial of his manhood and so, even of his humanity, by the very society of which he is a part."91 Whitman, then, believes that manhood is basically a male"s perceived sense of worth as conveyed by society. But it seems that the concept of manhood was still rooted in male performance, for, as Dudley T. Cornish puts it, "...a slave was not a man. [However, because of the Civil War), the Negro soldier proved that the slave could become a man."92 His participation in battle served as evidence to white America that his manhood carried the same potential as any white man's. Yet to offer a clear definition of black manhood would surely have been difficult for any of these men to do. Indeed, due to the social influences and the severity of the psychological impact of living in racist America, the

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concept of black manhood becomes so ambiguous that, after a while, even black men themselves do not know what they mean by the term. Each man may be able to define it for himself, yet the reality of a shared consciousness concerning the meaning of manhood is definitely a thing of the past. Sheldon Harris says on behalf of Paul Cuffe, "[Tlhe last eighteen months of his life disclosed that Cuffe had become a living example of one of the most important and continuous themes in American history, the struggle of Black Ambivalence."93 And that ambivalence, shared by most black men of the era, certainly included the meaning of black manhood. Finally, Samuel Ward comments on the legacy of enslavement which African Americans should never forget: It is almost impossible to spend youth, manhood, and the greater part of life, in [enslavement], and entirely escape, or to any great extent ever become free from, the legitimate influences of it upon the whole character...though I recollect nothing of slavery, I am every day showing something of my slave origin. It is among my thoughts, my superstitions, my narrow views, my awkwardness of manners. Ah, the infernal impress is upon me, and I fear I shall transmit it to my child, and they to theirs! How deeply seated, how far reaching, a curse it is!94 Certainly the ambiguity concerning the meaning of manhood has been transmitted from one generation of black men to the next. Indeed, after the Emancipation Proclamation of 1863 when all blacks were declared "free," black men knew not where to turn to find that manhood which had been lost for so long. They now faced unemployment, lynching, discrimination and other social evils which kepi them groping in the dark for some semblance of manhood, the likes of which they were probably unable to identify. This "legacy of ambiguity" concerning the concept of manhood has been inherited by each succeeding generation of black men in America, such that by today, the term seems undefinable. Yet black men still struggle for manhood to a degree no less severe than their forefathers. It is critical that the black community continue to wrestle with this phenomenon, for our success in reconceptualizing the notion of black manhood could be the answer we have long awaited concerning the current dilemma of the African American male.

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Notes 1. Abraham Chapman, Black Voices (New York: New American Library, 1968), 424. 2. Seth Scheiner and Tilden G. Eldenstein (ed.), The Black Americans: Interpretive Readings (New York: Holt, Rinehart and Winston, 1989), 6. 3. Samuel Ringgold Ward, Autobiography of a Fugitive Negro (Chicago: Johnson Publishing Company Inc., 1970), xiv. From the edition published in 1855 by John Snow of London. 4. Ibid. 5. Daniel Alexander Payne, Recollections of Seventy Years (New York: Arno Press and The New York Times, 1968), 3. (Originally published in 1888.) 6. Ibid., 4. 7. Ibid., 11. 8. Ibid., 12. 9. Ward, Autobiography, 4. 10. Ibid. 11. Payne, Recollections, 20. 12. Ward, A utobiography, 12. 13. Ibid. 14. Ibid., 4 & 5. 15. I am thrilled to say that Earl Ofari Hutchinson has begun this reappraisal in his text, Black Fatherhood: The Guide to Male Parenting (Inglewood, CA: IMPACT! Publications, 1992). 16. Ward, Autobiography, 21. 17. Ibid. 18. Ibid., 22. 19. Ibid. 20. Ibid., 25. 21. Ibid. 22. Ibid. 23. Ibid., 22. 24. Payne, Recollections, 18. 25. Ibid. 26. Ibid, 20.

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27. Payne, Recollections, 22. 28. Tbid.,23. 29. Payne never explains to the reader why his school is all-male. My assumption is that, due to Western patriarchy, he shared the belief that it was more important to educate men than women, for the former needed the means by which they could provide for the latter. 30. Ibid., 27 & 28. 31. Ibid, 28. 32. ibid. 33. Ibid., 34. 34. Ibid, 16. 35. Ibid, 17. 36. Ibid. 37. Ibid, 28. 38. Ibid, 119. 39. Wrard, Autobiography, 52. 40. Ibid. 41. During the 19th century, many whites believed that the white rule of African people was ordained by God. See Earl Riggins Renal, Dark Symbols, Obscure Signs Maryknoll, New York: Orbis Books, 1993). 42. Ward, Autobiography, 61. 43 For a more in-depth examination of how black men have re-conceptualized God for their own benefit, see Baldwin's Blues for Mister Charlie (New York: Dial Press, 1964). 44. Wrard, Autobiography, 30. 45. Ibid, 22. 46. Ibid, 47. 47. Payne, Recollections, 167. 48. Sheldon H. Harris, Paul Cuffe: Black America and the African Return (New York: Simon and Schuster, 1972), 14. 49. Payne, Recollections, 167. 50. Ibid. 51. Payne, Recollections, 90 & 91. 52. Ibid, 140. 53. Ibid, 288. 54. Ibid, 286.

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55. Ibid., 288. 56. Ibid., 118. 57. Ward, Autobiography, 8. 58. Ibid., 21. 59. Ibid., 30. 60. Ibid., 4. 61. Ibid., 77. 62. Ibid., 9. 63. Ibid. 64. Lerone Bennett, Jr., Before the Mayflower: A History of Black America (New York: Penguin Books, 1969), 255. 65. Payne, Recollections, 66. 66. Ibid. 67. To date, I have not found any studies dedicated to this issue, although I recognize that some could be forthcoming. 68. Ali, Shahrazad, The Blackman's Guide to Understanding the Black woman (Philadelphia: Civilized Publications, 1989). 69. Ward, Autobiography, 33. 70. Ibid., 40. 71. Ibid., 37. 72. Payne, Recollections, 99. 73. Ibid., 34. 74. Ibid., 137. 75. Ibid., 110. 76. Ibid., 84. 77. Chapter 11 of John Hope Franklin"s From Slavery to Freedom is dedicated to a discussion of what he calls the "Quasi-Free" of the 19th century. 78. Ibid., 89. 79. Ibid., 91. 80. Ibid., 111. 81. Ibid., 96. 82. Ibid. 83. Ibid., 112. 84. Ibid., 106. 85. Payne, Recollections, 125. 86. \A/'ard, Autobiography, 102.

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87. Payne, Recollections, 307 & 308. 88. Wrard, Autobiography, 63. 89. Ibid., 154. 90. Blyden Jackson, A History of African American Literature: The Long Beginning 1746-1895 (Baton Rouge: Louisiana State University Press, 1989), 275. 91. Ibid. 92. Melvin Drirnmer (ed.), Black History: A Reappraisal (Garden City, New York: Anchor Books/Double Day & Co., Inc.), 271. 93. Harris, PaulCuffe, 66. 94. Ward, Autobiography, 119.

VII Recommendations for Further Study The demise of slavery was by no means the end of the black male struggle for manhood in America. Actually, "the liquidation of slavery and the end of Reconstruction challenged the white South [and the North] to redefine the character of race relations [in the U.S. ].Ml And they wasted no time in doing so. If black men thought that reconstruction placed them alongside their white male counterparts as equals, they soon learned better. Indeed, for many black men, life was no better after emancipation than it had been before. They encountered extreme poverty and were still forced into submission by the same tyrant who had held them captive. And, as always, black men encountered physical abuse from white men whenever they "got besides themselves." Often such abuse took the form of lynching. Ralph Ginzberg, author of 100 Years ofLynching, suggests that thousands of black men lost their lives upon the tree, often for reasons which, to any sane individual, must be considered absurd. He notes that,fromthe mid-1800s to the 1960s, lynching served as the major form of black male control by white males, to the extent that southern black males lived in utter fear of meeting this diabolic end. Practically every newspaper in the South reported a lynching sometime between the above-given dates. The following account, from the Kissimmee Valley Gazette (Florida) on April 28, 1899, was headlined "Sam Holt Burned At Stake": Sam Holt, the negro who is thought to have murdered Alfred Cranford and assailed Cransford's wife, was burned at the stake one mile and a quarterfromNewnan, Ga., Sunday afternoon, July 23 rd, at 2:30 o'clock. Fully 2,000 people surrounded the small sapling to which he was fastened and watched the flames eat away his flesh, 175

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Dismantling Black Manhood saw his body mutilated by knives and witnessed the contortions of his body in extreme agony. Such suffering has seldom been witnessed, and through it all the Negro uttered hardly a cry. Those who witnessed the affair saw the negro meet his death and saw him tortured before the flames with unfeigning satisfaction. Holt went to the stake with as much courage as any one could possibly have possessed on such an occasion, and the only murmur that issued from his lips was when angry knives plunged into his flesh and his life's blood sizzled in the fire before his eyes. Then he cried, "Oh, my God! Oh, Jesus." Mrs. Cranford, the rape victim, was not permitted to identify the negro. She is ill and it was thought the shock would be too great for her. The crowd was satisfied with the identification of Holt by Mrs. Cranfords mother who did not, however, actually did not see Holt commit the crime. On the trunk of the tree nearby was pinned the following placard: "We Must Protect Our Southern Women."2

That Mr. Holt did not commit the crime is not only possible but plausible given the thousands of black men who were hanged for violations of which they knew nothing. Yet the stereotype of the black male as lewd and sex-craving, especially for white women, led white men to conclude that all black men were guilty of the crime. Therefore, the lynching of any black male quenched their thirst for revenge. In most instances when black men were lynched, their cases never appeared in court, for their blackness alone convinced whites of their guilt. Consequently, black men were lynched for the most trivial of alleged offenses. Some were hanged because they supposedly "looked at" a white woman; others were strung up because they "spoke harshly" to white men; and a few died by the rope simply because they were in the wrong place at the wrong time. Black men in the South soon realized that simply being alive was sufficient cause for them to lose their lives upon a tree. In May of 1919, the Chicago Defender reported and event that occurred in Dade City, Florida:

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Luther Wilson [a white man] blackened his face and attacked a 16-year-old [white] girl while she was on her way to school here last week. According to the girl, Wilson, with his face and hands blackened with a grease paint, waylaid her as she was passing through a strip of heavy timber. The girl later told a neighbor. [She] stated that Wilson had told her if she said anything about it, he would swear his innocence and put the blame on a black man. Everyone would believe him, he said.3 And, unfortunately, Luther Wilson was probably right. Perceptions of the black male were so adverse at the time that he could depend upon no legal source for assistance. This lynching tradition continued through to the civil rights era. The most widely-publicized incident was that of Emmett Till, a 15-year-old boy, who was lynched in Mississippi in 1955 for allegedly whistling at a white woman. His body was mutilated and found floating in the Tallahatchie River. The murderers had tied a 125-lb. fan to Till's body, hoping that it would remain on the bottom of the lake. His feet surfaced, however, much to a young white fisherman's horror.4 The story attracted national attention, although, to no one's surprise, those accused of the crime were acquitted within an hour. Till's mother decided that she wanted the world to see her son's horrific image so that there would be no secret as to the woes of the black man in "Good ole 'Sippi" and, indeed, all of America. So she released a photograph of the maimed corpse to the public.5 Black America was in shock for weeks. To lynch anyone was searing enough, but the lynching of a child was more than many black Americans could bear. The tragedy of Emmett Till was processed by African Americans as a gross reminder to black men that they are never to assume themselves equal to white men. Fortunately, the numbers of black males lynched declined drastically after this incident.6 But once the ritual of lynching gave way, its replacement—police brutality-escalated. From the 1950s to today, the number of black men who have been physically accosted by white male police officers is astounding. In fact, it might be difficult to fmd any adult black male alive who has never encountered the maltreatment of white policemen. And, as always, one's social status does not exempt one from the confrontation, as seen in the following account:

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Dismantling Black Manhood Arthur McDuffie, a black insurance executive, died shortly after his arrest by white police officers. The Miami Liberty City riots of May and July 1980, in which 16 people were killed, erupted when officers charged with murdering McDuffie were acquitted.7

In police brutality, as with lynching, a black man need not do anything to find himself the object of abuse: In Los Angeles, a black man, who presented no danger to the police, was placed in a chokehold by city police. His suit to enjoin the city police from using chokeholds reached the Supreme Court in City ofLos Angeles v. Lyons U.S. 95 (1983). The Court rejected his claim stating that Lyons did not have a case because he was no longer in danger of being a victim of a chokehold, and that it was unlikely that he would ever be chokeholded in the future.8 Such a statement would undoubtedly infuriate most black men who know that one's chance of being "chokeholded in the future" by white (and sometimes black) policemen is great. Yet, in the end, few black men ever report their abuse, for what good will it do? White men have never been reprimanded for mistreating black men, so why waste one's time? Black men have very little faith that the justice system in America protects their interests. And their pessimism certainly has historical validity. The beating of Rodney King on March 3, 1991 by three Los Angeles police officers "while 11 others watched and laughed"9 confirmed to black men that, even at this late date, manhood was not theirs to savor. When the jury of the trial acquitted all of the officers involved, black men of the 90s suddenly realized that America was still dedicated to keeping them in their place, regardless of the cost. The subsequent riots did not disturb the established order enough for them to reconsider their decision; quite the contrary, one juror said, "We feel we have done the best job we could have possibly done."10 And they left it at that. Given all that has been illumined in this dissertation, it should come as no surprise that black males abuse drugs and alcohol more than any other group in America. Such coping mechanisms keep them just far enough away from total despair that they do not give up on life. Although these victims may not know the origin of their discontentment, they know one

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thing—America still does not support the notion of a strong, intelligent, black male, one who possesses the resources necessary to consider himself a man. Sure, many black males are doing quite well in America, boasting accomplishments few white men have ever attained. Yet black men understand that these brothers are exceptional. And those men who realize that they are not among the chosen usually lash out against society between ages 16 and 25, only to find themselves in prison wondering what went wrong. In fact, the percentage of incarcerated black men has risen steadily since the early 1970s. One source reports that in 1978, there were 136,893 black male federal and state prisoners as compared to 216,344 in 1986.11 Certainly we cannot conclude that black males are innately criminal or that they commit more crimes than other men in society. Instead, we must recognize that the failure of black men to secure a stable sense of manhood is at the root of their rage, violence, and disillusionment. Academic investigations into the plight of the African American male are so new and few that one could study practically any aspect of black male existence in America and be considered a "groundbreaker." Nonetheless, as noted in chapter 6, the history of black fatherhood in America needs so much revision that the project could seem over-whelming even to the most skilled researcher. Preconceived notions abound concerning black men and their children which are nothing less than destructive to the black community. A scholarly reappraisal of black fatherhood would help to dispel many of these misconceptions. Other potential studies of black men which might be an outgrowth of this one are: 1. How do black men define themselves (and their manhood) when reared primarily by females? 2. What is the black woman's perception of manhood? 3. Do current black male age groups such as gangs and sports clubs function much like the traditional rites of passage? 4. What impact do black fathers have on rearing their daughters? 5. How might the current unveiling of black male homosexuality affect a new definition of black manhood? Certainly such research will be costly, yet it is absolutely necessary if black males are ever finally to define themselves and their role in the world. My study of the concept of manhood must also be expanded. A second examination might begin in the Reconstruction era, go through the Harlem

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Renaissance, and end in contemporary America. Such an exploration will help us determine all of the historical antecedents of the black male struggle for manhood and provide us with the necessary insight to re-structure the manhood ideal such that it becomes both attainable and all-encompassing. If studies of this nature are not conducted, black American men will continue to search the world over for a manhood they are unable to recognize and one which, ultimately, might mean their demise.

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Notes 1. Stephen J. Whitfield, A Death in the Delta: The Story of Emmett Till (New York: Collier Macmillan Publishers, 1988), 1. 2. Ralph Ginzberg, 100 Years of Lynching (Baltimore: Black Classic Press, 1988), 10 & 11. This text was originally published in 1962 by Lancer Books. 3. Ibid., 119. 4. Whitfield, Death in the Delta, 22. 5. Since 1955, Jet magazine has devoted an annual issue to the tragedy of Emmett Till to keep black Americans reminded of their recent history. 6. Robert L. Zangrando, The NAACP Crusade Against Lynching, 1909-1950 (Philadelphia: Temple University Press, 1980). 7. Harry A. Ploski and James Williams (eds.), Reference Library of Black America Vol II. (Afro-American Press, 1990), 335. 8. Ibid. 9. Frederick H. Lowe, "L.A.'s Law," NorthStar News and Analysis, March 1991, 3. 10. The Philadelphia Inquirer, Vol. 325, no. 120, Thursday, April 30, 1992, A6. 11. Ploski and Williams, Reference Library, 511.

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Index Afikpo 12, 13 Aluife de Cada Mofto 25, 60 Amistad 50 Asante 50, 61,94 auction 54, 5, 57, 60, 114

Fugitive Slave Law 160-161, 163 Giddings, Paula 58, 61, 96 Haley, Alex 95 hooks, bell 100, 126, 129, 132 husbandhood 12, 28, 36, 64, 119121, 127

Baldwin, James 9 Bibb, Henry 5, 9, 101, 102, 104, 112,124,129,132 Bontemps, Arna 137 Brooks 51

Igbo 12 iron muzzle 78, 82

circumcision 14,25 jettison 53-55 dance 17, 26, 27,46 discipline 13-15, 18, 33, 34, 107, 141 Douglass, Frederick 9, 21 Dunbar 130, 133 Dying Negro, The 78

King, Rodney 178 lynching 170, 175-178, 181 Marees, Pieter de 14, 37 middle passage 43,44, 46-53, 56-59, 74, 80, 85 mutiny 46, 50

Embrenche 67 Falconbridge, Alexander 39,46, 60 fatherhood 12, 32, 36, 64, 84, 89,

Northrup, Solomon 101, 106, 116, 122,129, 132

120, 121, 127, 143, 17S, 179

Onitsha 13, 16 oral literature 12, 18,27 Owen, Nicholas 40, 46, 60

fixed melancholy 49, 55 Franklin, John Hope 9, 29, 40, 130, 133, 173

189

Index rites of passage 12, 17, 35, 36, 67,85, 179 sex 100, 176 Smith, Venture 44, 60, 66, 87, 94,101, 107, 108 Speculum Oris 52, 53 Stagolee 127 Sundiata 26, 39 Till, Emmett 177, 181 warrior 12, 14, 18, 19, 24-27, 39, 44, 58, 68 wrestling 19-23, 27, 28, 38, 58 Whitman, Albert Alison 169 Yoruba 18, 23, 28 Zong 54