[MUSIC PLAYING]
In order for us to continue to move forward
and striving for equity and striving for change,
we have to be able to talk about our past
in a way that's really meaningful.
And the memorial, I think, is a beautiful first step
in starting that conversation.
[MUSIC PLAYING]
It's intended to be a space for reflection and healing.
It's a space of truth telling.
We want folks to bring classes here.
We want folks to engage in that way.
Slavery wasn't an experience that, by any means,
should just be something in our past that we say happened,
and we can talk about it.
We should help folks heal past that trauma
and past the brutality of it.
The first thing, design wise, that greets you
when you come into the memorial is this broken shackle image,
represents a freedom from physical bondage.
There's the path towards the North Star,
and that was the path towards freedom.
And then a second path kind of aligns
with the sunset on March 3, which
is liberation and Freedom, that is 80 feet, which matches
the diameter of the rotunda, taking up
that space that is so rightly deserved and honoring
this legacy.
There is a timeline of events that
happen all the way through until Isabella Gibbons' death.
And Isabella Gibbons was a member
of the enslaved community.
And she really took it upon herself
to encourage reflection, encourage
moving the needle towards equity and equality.
And so her eyes are on the back of the memorial.
I would encourage everyone, if they can,
come witness it in person.
Feel the stone.
See the timeline.
Be here and be present, and take a second
to reflect, honor, and encourage folks
to move forward with that history.
[MUSIC PLAYING]
Good morning.
My name is Alvin Edwards, and I'm the pastor of the Mt.
Zion First African Baptist Church here in Charlottesville.
And I am a member of the President's Commission
on Slavery and the University, for which I
am thankful to be a member of.
And I want to welcome each of you
to the virtual dedication of the Memorial for Enslaved Laborers.
I want to welcome you to the vision of the former president
of the University of Virginia, Miss Teresa
Sullivan and the Board of Visitors,
then for institutionalizing efforts
to recognize enslaved laborers' contributions.
And I also want to thank the PCSU committee and President
Ryan for continuing this recognition.
And I would also like to take this moment
to acknowledge that the land we live, learn, and work on
is a traditional territory of the Monacan Indian nation.
We pay respect to the elders, both past and present.
And additionally, we acknowledge and pay
respect to the enslaved people who built and labored
at the University of Virginia.
I welcome you to join us and share in the experience
as we memorialize, as we celebrate,
as we commemorate and learn lessons
of the contribution of people of color who were enslaved
and yet helped to build this university community.
That we're thankful for.
Now let us pray.
Thou who are called by many names, as we bow on this day,
we thank you that you have put it
in the hearts of the leaders of the University of Virginia
to pause and honor those persons who were enslaved and built
the university.
Let their memories remind all of us that our works do follow us.
This we ask, in the name that is above every name, the great I
am, the eternal one, we do pray.
Amen.
[MUSIC PLAYING]
Can we forget the crack of the whip?
The cow hide?
The whipping post?
The auction block?
The handcuffs?
The spaniels?
The iron collar?
The Negro trader tearing the young child
from its mother's breast as a whelp from the lioness?
Have we forgotten those horrible cruelties?
Hundreds of our race killed.
No, we have not, nor ever will.
Isabella Gibbons, a former enslaved person
owned by a University of Virginia faculty member
wrote these words two years after the end of the Civil War.
She went on to become an educator.
And it is fittingly her words and her eyes through which
we can feel the past reach through the stone
of the Memorial to Enslaved Laborers
and impel us to greater understanding, empathy
and justice.
In a year in which we have too often suffered heartache,
isolation, and loss as a result of a global pandemic that
has taken millions of lives, as well
as unprecedented challenges to democracy
and the unjust deaths of Black citizens
at the hands of law enforcement, we have also
witnessed moments of hope.
Global social justice movements have
sought to redress inequities related to policing,
punishment, and voting rights.
Scientists, meanwhile, have developed an ingenious vaccine
that is bringing the pandemic closer to its end.
Against this context, the memorial
is an especially meaningful symbol
of healing and connection.
It is not only a bridge between generations
but also a bridge from the darkness
of hidden injustices to the light
that knowledge and recognition bring.
I'd like to express my profound gratitude
for the work of so many at UVA and in the local community
to dream, envision, design, research, collaborate,
build and engrave the memorial.
Their work will be remembered for as long
as the granite from which the memorial is built
endure.s This work began with the UVA students who
were the driving force behind the memorial we dedicate today.
In 2009, the student council's Diversity Initiatives Committee
established the Memorial for Enslaved Laborers group,
solicited community input, organized scholarly panels
and talks, and ultimately sponsored
a competition for memorial designs
in partnership with the Black Student Alliance
and the University and Community Action for Racial Equity group.
Alumni from the UVA Idea fund led by Tiffany Fairchild
were integral to next steps.
They commissioned a report summarizing existing efforts
around UVA's history with slavery
and recommended an institutional response.
In 2013, President Teresa Sullivan
wisely created the President's Commission
on Slavery and the University.
The commission was co-chaired by Marcus Martin,
then vice president and chief officer
for diversity and equity, And Kirt von
Daacke assistant dean and professor of history
in the College of Arts and Sciences.
Their 2018 report was foundational
to our understanding of the ways in which
the reprehensible institution of slavery
was, indeed, integral to the building, founding,
and early flourishing of UVA.
Their careful scholarship and narrative
were crucial to the design of the memorial.
Kevin Fay, a former member of the Board of Visitors and chair
of the Building and Grounds Committee
at the time of the memorial's approval,
championed this work, as did former board member John
MacFarlane who spearheaded fundraising efforts.
[INAUDIBLE] and Khaleefa Lee were pioneering student
advocates and leaders.
Eric Howeler and Meejin Yoon architects extraordinaire
have created a work of lasting significance,
along with project manager Namjoo Kim.
We thank design team members Mabel O. Wilson,
the team historian, Eto Otitigbe,
the artist who designed the unforgettable gaze of Isabella
Gibbons; Frank Dukes, who led the public engagement effort,
and Gregg Bleam of Gregg Bleam Landscape Architects.
The talented team of Devon Henry, Patrick Lindsey,
and Mike Spence at Team Henry Enterprises
ably oversaw construction of the work.
Alex Marshall and Jim Durham from [INAUDIBLE]
managed the stonework, even through long days
of winter mud.
UVA's office of the architect, including university landscape
architect Mary Hughes, architect for the University,
Alice Raucher; project manager Cerrita Herman
and construction administration manager
Ted Nelson contributed leadership and support
throughout.
Finally Megan Faulkner and MAL community engagement committee
coordinated a collaborative process for events
with the local community and the descendant community.
We are indebted to each of you for your contributions
to the memorial.
I would like to close with a special acknowledgment
of the families with ties to the names, locations, and memory
marks that appear on the memorial.
Your ancestors toiled, often anonymously,
facing violence and harassment, and not under their free will,
to build the University of Virginia.
It is to them that we owe our deepest gratitude.
May this memorial bring to their families
a measure of solace and a step toward spiritual repair.
Thank you.
[MUSIC PLAYING]
[DRUMS AND DANCING]
[INAUDIBLE]
I bring you greetings, cousins, from Oakland, California.
My name is Regina Callaway.
I'm so honored to be here to share in this memorial
experience with you.
This day is so important because, indeed, it
is the day the Lord has made.
But it also is the day where our ancestors' promises are
realized through us.
We lift up their names, their stories,
and we usher the healing in spiritual reparations.
So I want to thank you to the South Halls,
to the herms to the berms to the cars
to the miners to the Tyrrells, to the Harrises,
the Harristons, and so many more.
We give praise to life.
I honor and thank you, Dr. Shelley Murphy, for all things
Virginia that you've shown me.
And a special salute to my cousin,
Nikki Smith Reams, for ushering this day.
Blessings to all of you.
Thank you.
This memorial means to me that I stand here today
on the shoulders of my great, great uncle Peyton Skipwith,
who labored here as a for-hire slave laborer
from Brimo Plantation in Fluvanna County, 160 years ago.
And I can thank him this day for his perseverance
toward freedom on my behalf.
God bless him, and all others memorialized here.
[MUSIC PLAYING]
While we wish we could be together for this dedication,
I remain humbled to stand before you, representing
the efforts of many.
We know that legacies are powerful.
I've developed an even more intimate appreciation
of that power recently.
My mom passed away last year before getting the chance
to see the memorial in person.
She was a huge supporter of my work on this project,
and I want to mention her because I'm
a part of her legacy.
I know she's proud.
As students, we've felt the legacies
of the individuals whose names are engraved here
and those whose names we do not know.
As a Black student at the University of Virginia,
those legacies manifested for me in particularly complicated
ways.
They were everywhere and in everything.
Present alongside them, so was the legacy of slavery
that still feeds the systemic racism of today.
There was never any disputing the power of the legacies.
We all felt them.
Memory of a complete history is what we were denied.
Yes, and in remembrance, we must not
forget those whose work birthed this memorial and all
the foundational reparative work surrounding it.
For in all great change there stands the spark
that leads to its creation.
The voice that sparked our Big Bang momentum
in 2006, Dean Rick Turner.
Our dean who valiantly fought for an environment that
would ensure the students he served could thrive.
Thus laying the very groundwork to bring this idea
into reality.
We give thanks to him and the students and faculty
whom I united with, working tirelessly from 2006 2009,
first for a class project, next for the liberation of bodies
and space.
And even more so, for a peaceful honoring of our ancestors.
Building on years of work of countless faculty, students,
and Charlottesville community members,
the Memorial for Enslaved Laborers Committee
established in 2009 pushed for a truth telling
of a painful but critical part of the university's story.
Most importantly, we came together
to acknowledge the very real lives of those honored women
and men, often erased from common narrative.
It took several generations of stakeholders
fighting to make the case for public recognition.
Which include our Charlottesville family,
staff and faculty of UVA, and the many students
who would engage in this work with the university community
Racial Reconciliation project, or UCRRP,
who all worked along with us as two students,
adding Jason James and Lakeisha Banks.
All of us carry the work of reconciliatory action,
community inclusionary education,
as well as proper memorialisation.
Along with the many moons of the Memorial for Enslaved
Laborers committee, the students who worked tirelessly for love
and righteousness to guarantee that there would be engagement
in the topics of reconciliation, reparations,
and a correct storytelling of the legacy of enslavement
at UVA.
A pivotal point for our effort, and one of my favorites,
was a student design competition we held in 2011.
Through that we proved that the imagination, imperative,
and desire do all exist to tell this story
in a dignified and honest way.
10 years later, to be here at the site is surreal for me.
There are so many people whose imprint is on this project
and who deserve credit.
I would like to extend a special acknowledgment
to my fellow founding members of the student committee, Kyle
Bancroft, Jasmine Drake, Carrie Fillapetty, Anna Griselda
Funtelar, Ryan Hicks, Alyssa Maran, [INAUDIBLE] ta
Semma, and Edna Turei, as well as Frank
Dukes and the University and Community Action
for Racial Equity for their continued support.
And to the winners of that competition, whose work would
give the very foundation to the very design,
and even the location that we see today.
We feel this project, one of many powerful works,
has brought life and light to the buried and forgotten.
Those long gone and those who are still standing.
Those still teaching, those still cleaning,
and those still living life inside and outside
the plantation as Charlottesville would call it.
To them, we give thanks and acknowledgment.
And to my mother and her drive to see
me reach bounds unseen by coming here
to humbly be a part of the edification of history,
our story at UVA, C-ville, ATL, the USA.
Even in the beautiful ugly that it is.
We pray everyone joins us in the consistent remembrance
and the ongoing reparations work to come.
The people to which this memorial is dedicated
will never know the full extent of their legacies
and the gratitude that I and others have for them.
To their descendants to whom this university owes
a tremendous debt, I hope you find
some comfort in this space.
May we all draw courage and healing from our ancestors
as they live on in all of us.
A physical memorial is important and a long overdue addition
to the university.
But by no means is it an end for the simultaneous dismantling
and building work that still needs to be done.
So even as we celebrate and congratulate,
may we push forward in earnest.
The actions we take, the knowledge we gain--
that's where the power of change resides.
[MUSIC PLAYING]
[VIDEO PLAYING]
What we memorialize is, of course, important.
There are some things we wish to remember ourselves and have
our children and grandchildren remember.
There are other things we would actually just as soon forget.
The university has gone through various periods and phases
of what it held in memory and what it forgot.
Now the history of slavery, to a large extent,
was something we forgot.
So I thought it was important for us
to look at what I thought of as the hidden history of UVA.
The charge of the President's Commission
on Slavery University is to commemorate
the University of Virginia's history, first of all.
But also to recognize the slave laborers' contributions
to the building of this institution.
For many years, that story was not told.
What we fundamentally do as a university
is research and education.
We try to uncover new knowledge, and we pass that knowledge
on to our students.
One of our charges from the president
was to do the research, to go into the records,
to try to tease out the history of slavery at the university
and learn some of the names of the enslaved.
Who was bought and sold.
Who was rented.
Who actually laid the cornerstone.
Who erected the institution.
This history-- it's hidden in plain sight,
all across grounds.
The entire university was a site of enslavement.
And our goal has been to reinscribe
that history and the lives of the enslaved back
on to the landscape in as many ways as possible.
Naming buildings after the enslaved.
Creating information in the rotunda visitors
center that provides history about the slave laborers'
contributions to the university.
We've developed an entire curriculum,
classes that teach the local and particular story
at the university.
We've uncovered through archaeology much
of the history of slave families who lived behind the pavilions
in the gardens, behind the serpentine walls.
And now we are about to fundraise and erect a memorial
to the slave laborers that will be placed
on the footprint of UNESCO World Heritage site,
just north and east of the rotunda.
It's meant to echo the diameter of the rotunda.
It will list the names of the enslaved.
We have nearly 1,000 people that we
can identify from the records.
This memorial is meant to finally acknowledge
the thousands of enslaved people who built and maintained
the university, speak to the meaning
and value of their lives, and connect back
to the academical village.
There's more work to be done here.
I very much hope that this commission, or another group,
would also be able to look at other parts of the university's
history.
Recent events in America tell us, we have to tell this story.
We have to confront our own past and use it as a teaching tool.
It's our only hope.
Going forward, having that knowledge.
Teaching our students, educating the public,
is an opportunity to heal.
It's an opportunity to learn.
It's an opportunity to know what we need to do next.
[MUSIC PLAYING]
Dealing with the painful parts of our history
is hard in our personal lives, and it's
hard in our institutional life.
I created the President's Commission
on Slavery and the University because there
was so much of UVA's history that we had lost or thrown
away.
And as we approached our bicentennial,
we needed to recover what had been lost.
Dr. Marcus Martin and Kirt von Daacke
led a dedicated group of researchers, students, alumni,
community members, and descendents in this work.
Many donors also helped with significant encouragement
from the idea fund.
The commission was charged with a number of tasks.
We are a knowledge-based institution.
An important first task was to recover
the knowledge about the university's history
with slavery.
The commission learned a great deal,
and we are continuing to learn.
Many of the names of the enslaved laborers you see here
came from their work in records and in interviews.
A second important task was to propose
appropriate memorialising.
The commission proposed and undertook
memorializing tasks, such as the rediscovery, renovation,
and rededication of the enslaved people's cemetery north
of the university cemetery.
Following on the request and the previous work of UVA students,
the commission proposed this memorial to enslaved laborers.
The memorial's visual links to the rotunda,
to the Charlottesville community,
and to the academical village helped
to tell the story, in stone, that the commission has
helped us to learn.
People memorialize what is important to them.
And with this memorial, the commission
helps us ensure that the hidden lives of enslaved laborers
are now publicly remembered for their importance
to the university of Virginia.
[MUSIC PLAYING]
I'm Dr. Marcus Martin.
It was my privilege to serve as co-chair
of the PCSU, President's Commission on Slavery
and the University, with Professor Kirt von Daacke.
Efforts by students, the UVA Idea Fund trustees,
the Office for Diversity and Equity
and others over a decade led to the PCSU,
established by President Teresa Sullivan,
September 2013, with the charge to provide recommendations
on the commemoration of UV's historical relationship
with slavery and enslaved people.
This memorial to enslaved laborers
would not be here today without the steadfast support
of President Sullivan and the Board of Visitors
to institutionalize and synergize
the efforts of the community and the university
through the actions of the PCSU.
I extend my heartfelt thank you to President Sullivan
for her unwavering support.
And I think directors, and other board members,
for the tremendous and essential support over the years,
including approval of the memorial design, construction,
and financial commitments.
Barbara Freed, Wood Clement, served as board liaisons
to the PCSU, and John McFarland worked with the PCSU every step
of the way, including chairing the fundraising efforts
in collaboration with University Advancement.
Their support was invaluable, and I can't thank them enough.
The 26-member PCSU consisting of students, staff, faculty,
administrators alumni community members, community relations
task force, our local and national advisory boards,
and the Office for Diversity and Equity staff,
completed numerous initiatives related to our charge
and delivered a final report to President Sullivan
with construction of the memorial well underway.
We acknowledge the past, and must learn from it.
But we will never forget the horrors and dehumanization
of slavery.
This memorial, located at the intersection of the North
pathway to freedom and sunset on the day
14,000 enslaved in Charlottesville and Albemarle
County were liberated, allows us to reflect and hopefully heal.
So let us, on this momentous occasion and beyond,
also aspire to become a more inclusive, equitable, and just
society.
Thank you;
[MUSIC PLAYING]
In 2013, as the President's Commission
on Slavery and the University began our research
documenting slavery here, we knew
we had to be unafraid to follow the truth, wherever
it may lead.
To paraphrase Frederick Douglass,
the life of a university is secure
only while the university is honest, truthful, and virtuous.
We were keenly aware about highlighting
the significant contributions of the enslaved to building
and maintaining the university for decades.
As one community member told us at our first workshop,
you darn well better build a memorial,
to honor their lives, labor, skill, and humanity in the face
of oppression and violence.
Knowing their names is not enough.
We must call the names of these unsung founders.
Jack, Gregory, John Taylor, Sandy, Squire, and so
many others.
Four years of research in the archives.
We pored over university records as well as student and faculty
written materials that survive.
We made real progress.
The memorial's memory wall includes Sam, Davey, Lewis,
Prudence, Ryland, and so many others.
Isabella Gibbons in 1867 asked, can we
forget the horrible cruelties of bondage?
She answered, no.
We have not nor ever will.
W.E.B. du Bois noted emancipation
was the key to a promised land of sweeter
beauty than ever stretched before the eyes
of wearied Israelites.
In song and exhortation swelled one refrain, liberty.
Today this memorial acknowledges the yearnings of those unsung
founders and calls their names.
Nelson, Lancelot.
Wyatt.
Rhoda.
Randall.
And so many others.
Our work has made great strides in creating a new university
public memory that unflinchingly acknowledges
the horrors of human bondage while honoring
the humanity of the enslaved.
We must call their names.
Anthony, Jackson, Pendleton, Pryor, Jenny, and so
many others.
Our work revealed the names of over 600 people,
this memorial, the culmination of the process of research,
acknowledgment, community engagement, and atonement,
make sure that we will never forget again the stories,
and we will always call their names.
Jeff, James, Robin, Nemo, Charlotte, and so many others.
More than I could possibly call out in these short remarks.
It is in so many ways still just the beginning.
We have so much more work to do.
But today, at least, we can celebrate and call
the names of the university's unsung founders.
William Green, Zacharia, Jane, and so many others.
Thank you
[MUSIC PLAYING]
We wanted this monument to be an open monument.
Really, more a memorial than a monument.
Something that was a space nestled into a landscape
that felt comfortable for all.
And so the calibration of scale, the way
the human body feels next to the wall on the inside,
or on the outside, was really important to creating
a sense of safe space, a comfortable space,
that you could gather and you could
engage in an outdoor conversation or seminar
as an individual or as a small group
or as a larger collective.
It creates a sort of continuity.
It creates these strings between the names and the gashes.
This project is important to me because it makes
an intervention in history.
The fact that it's located in a UNESCO World Heritage site
is a major victory for those who were enslaved here at UVA.
And also for UVA is taking a stance
about how they're transforming the narrative here
at the University.
I think UVA understands that it's an ongoing commitment,
and that the Memorial doesn't end their commitment
to expanding the story of people who were enslaved here
by the university and who helped build and establish
the university.
The memorial is one signifier of their efforts.
But there will also be ongoing educational efforts and things
that really change the fabric and culture of UVA.
It not only tells the story that we know,
it participates in the unfolding of the story in the future,
to right past wrongs.
And in that way, becomes a symbol
for equity and social justice forevermore.
[MUSIC PLAYING]
What does the memorial to Enslaved Laborers
at the University of Virginia mean to me?
It means to me, honoring and recognizing
my ancestor, Jim Henderson, and the other 4,000 slaves who
built this institution.
It means telling their stories and the start
of writing a wrong.
My name is Kimalee Cottrell Dickerson.
Several of my Cottrell ancestors,
including Jim, Lucy, and Dolly were enslaved at UVA.
To me, the memorial represents a visible reminder
of the true history of slavery and racism at UVA.
But it also represents a space to remember
the courage and contributions of my ancestors
and the thousands of others named and unnamed.
My name is Lorenzo Dickerson, and I'm a native
of Albemarle County, Virginia.
And several of my ancestors in the Moppin family
were enslaved at the University of Virginia,
including Garland, William Dabney Moppin and Sam Moppin.
What the memorial means to me as a filmmaker and a storyteller,
being that uncovering these important stories
of our history is of the utmost importance,
it means a physical acknowledgment of the work
that these folks did to build the university,
and their contribution.
So me being someone who was born at the University of Virginia
and who now is employed by the University of Virginia,
the location means more than just being a destination to me
at this point.
Knowing this history, it changes that a little bit for me.
And it gives it more importance.
[MUSIC PLAYING]
Good morning.
My name is John MacFarlane, and it's a great honor
to be with you today.
Inspired by a journey, which my wife Dudley and I undertook
when we restored an enslaved cemetery on a farm, which
we purchased over 15 years ago, we
knew how important it was to support this memorial.
Like UVA's enslaved population, our cemetery
had been hidden from sight and left to decay
through over 150 years of neglect.
Removed not only from site but also from our nation's history.
Our enslaved cemetery was among countless others
throughout the South that suffered a similar fate.
And so we resolved to tell its story
in a prominent way with an extensive restoration,
culminating with the dedication of a plaque, which
is also applicable to those honored by this memorial.
And I would like to read it.
Quote, knowing neither their names nor their circumstances,
we dedicate this monument to honor the lives of those buried
here with the hope that it will serve as a reminder
that many suffered unfairly during the formative years
of our nation, and that we must forever
strive to ensure that past mistakes are neither forgotten
nor rationalized.
Furthermore that we carry forth with an understanding
that the pursuit of an equal and fair society
requires continued evaluation and improvement.
Unquote.
It is in this spirit that Dudley and I
were inspired both to contribute and to help
raise funds for this transformative project.
We are grateful for that opportunity
and extend our heartfelt thanks to the many donors
who have given generously.
This is a very special and proud day
of recognition for the enslaved community of UVA,
and for their descendants.
And I am deeply honored to participate
in this long-deserved tribute.
May God bless those recognized on these walls
and their families.
[DRUMS BEATING AND DANCING]
Hello, I'm Carol Malone, great, great, great niece
of Mr. Peyton Skipwith.
On behalf of the descendants of Mr. Peyton Skipwith,
seeing his name on the Memorial for Enslaved Laborers
fills my heart with pride and sadness.
Peyton was a great family man.
Loving father and husband, who loved his siblings
and dearly loved his mother.
An educated man with a signature that was a work of art,
who had to sign his name with an x
for fear of death because he could read and write.
A skilled stonemason who cut stone
from a quarry for the construction of buildings
on the UVA campus.
In 2017, UVA dedicated Skipwith Hall in his honor,
most likely built on the site of that quarry.
Peyton, along with 4,000 to 5,000
known and unknown patriots and citizens,
toiled at UVA under unspeakable horrors and oppression,
to carve out a life of dignity and hope
for their families and descendants.
On November 5, 1833, Peyton Skipwith and his wife,
Lydia, and their six children, departed
from Monrovia, Liberia, aboard the Jupiter,
arriving on the last day of the year.
Surviving the death of his wife and daughter, Felicia,
the first year, he survived illness, blindness,
cultural wars, extreme heat and a tough terrain
to become a warrior, liberator, statesman,
successful stonemason, contractor, and mentor.
As his descendants, we carry on his legacy of education
and professional success.
I leave with you his words in a letter
to John Hart Willcock, dated September 29, 1844.
I am blessed with a trade for you have sent me
to this country where I can speak for myself like a man
and show myself to be a man, so fair as my ability allows me.
We are proud of you, Mr. Peyton Skipwith, and we love you.
Your spirit brought us together.
Thank you.
What the Memorial to Enslaved Laborers at the University
of Virginia means to me is an opportunity
to answer the deafening silent call of the ancestors.
I've stood, cried, grieved in the midst of the monument,
encamped by slopes of granite.
I've heard the voices of the ancestors,
those enslaved, calling yet only heard
by those willing to receive.
They are calling out their God-given names,
those given by their endearing mothers and grandmothers,
who hoped and prayed that the life of their child
would be better and greater than all they could imagine.
I hear the ancestors calling out their names
because, on the wall, their names cannot be found.
They are nameless and only identified
by the laborious nature of their occupations,
imposed and mandated by their masters.
My heart hears them calling out to their descendants.
Yes, that call is to each of us, to keep going,
to keep searching, to keep uniting, to keep reclaiming,
to keep honoring, and to strive to repair
the generational trauma embedded by 100 years of physical,
emotional, and spiritual bondage.
To those enslaved names on the wall
and to those names whom we promise to identify,
we are here because of you.
And we are grateful for your endurance, your strength,
your perseverance, and your love.
We continue to honor you and to find ourselves,
because we still are not yet free.
[MUSIC PLAYING]
My serpentine.
You are the garden snake that slithers through my freshly
plowed lawn, wraps itself around my swollen ankles,
and calls me, boy.
Curves its way up my spine until I have no choice but to kneel.
My serpentine.
You see the way my aching hands bleed, cracked skin faithfully
stacking cracked brick, under a sweltering Southern sun.
My serpentine.
Tonight, I scrub the crinkled stone walls clean, wipe off
the venom before it stains my skin,
let my tears water the trees that loan me shade.
When did time become cemented between these bricks,
my serpentine?
Forgive me for overstepping unmarked boundaries,
for stepping all over these bountiful gardens, pavilions
that leave you perched above me in a thickening silence that
swells in my ear.
Hear the names of my brothers and sisters,
echoing down from pristine balconies.
The crack of your whip meets the click of our tongues.
Our languages remain foreign to one another.
My serpentine, you changed your colors with the seasons,
turned your Confederate cardinal red to orange and blue.
Kept your hatred tucked inside corks and curls.
Now you see some secrets simply must unfurl and topple,
the way Kitty Foster's home did, left in the shadows
while your rotunda was rebuilt. Such recklessness reigning
from those called rational, the consequences of your actions
are far from fractional.
My serpentine, must Swansons sue you to get your attention,
use your laws, your language, until you bite your own tongue?
Crouch between your colonnades, quoting Jefferson,
until the contradictions catch you off guard,
catch you idle, as my humanity is threatened.
Catch you silent as my community is displaced.
Catch you indifferent as my story is erased.
Watch how quickly you craft the next excuse.
When did hate become cemented between these bricks--
My serpentine.
Your fang marks, they swollen my chest.
Trying to suck the life out of our families,
trying to suck the soul out of our names,
trying to suck the truth out of our histories.
When I shout for justice, you cry for understanding.
Your hot breath fogs up windows until I am invisible.
When I demand change, you question my legitimacy,
pretend I speak of myths, boy, check your white fragility.
My serpentine, I see you.
Fierce eyes, scales and all.
You cannot shed yourself of me.
My body, my being.
My serpentine.
I built you, winding curves, cracks and all.
You cannot see yourself without me.
My body, my being--
My serpentine.
I write you down and capture myself.
I tear you down and free myself.
[MUSIC PLAYING]
Hello, I am Deteasa Brown Gathers.
I am a native of Charlottesville,
an employee of UVA.
I am a mom, a UVA mom.
I'm a grandmother, and I'm a local activist and support
my husband, who is also a local activist, Don Gathers.
The Memorial to Enslaved Labor Community engagement group,
we formed in order to make a way for this very day.
So through this, I found myself.
And I'm so happy that I learned more
about who I am and learned my connection
to this great monument.
I became even more interested in this endeavor
after the death of my own mother, Charlotte Brown, whom
was one of the hidden nurses.
So at the time of her death, and by her bedside,
she made one clear statement to me.
She said, don't forget about me.
Me not forgetting about her is not
forgetting about all 4,000 names on this wall.
I want the next Brown girl like me to understand that they come
from people that are resilient.
People that worked hard.
People that labored for this community, and not
just the University of Virginia.
And this is why it is important to continue this story,
and to make sure that we continue
to have a place at the table as descendants.
And I would like to now introduce Bertha French.
She is also my co-chair.
She's a UVA alum.
And she is a descendant of those that were enslaved at UVA.
In a letter to Governor James Barbour,
Professor Robert Patterson, a resident
of Pavilion Five, requests, the continuance
of the sickness at the University
and the probability that it might not
disappear before hot weather, have
determined me to take my leave on to Philadelphia.
I wish you to give up my boy, Alfred,
at the end of his current month to Colonel Bram.
He is hired often, no, by the month.
His wife, I suppose, has already gone home.
Henry will stay and attend to the garden.
March 9, 1829.
While not much more is known about Alfred and Henry,
we do know that they belonged to a community and network
of enslaved laborers in the Madison-Barbour Historic
District, a corridor of large plantations riddling
the Constitution Route between Monticello and Montpelier,
including the governor's, a home designed by friend and mentor
Thomas Jefferson.
It is only recently that we knew of Alfred and Henry's
connection, and just how entrenched
the Barbours were in building the University
in its early years.
And later, the family's influence as the University
emerges from the Civil War.
The governor's son, Benjamin Johnson Barbour
would become the university's first rector
after the Civil War.
Governor Barbour purchased my third-great grandmother
Priscilla at a tender age of 12 for $350
as he ascended into his position and became
the first resident of the governor's mansion in Richmond.
My daughter Josephine would later
reflect on the experience of holding the actual bill of sale
for Priscilla's acquisition as a formative experience, as she
wrote her personal statement on her application to UVA.
While archival research and special collections
helps tell part of my family story,
my most cherished sources have been the oral histories passed
down through the generations.
I can now connect Priscilla to another important figure
at the University.
Priscilla's granddaughter, my great-grandmother Alverta,
would marry a Reverend William James Howard of Zion Baptist
Church in Washington DC.
He was the pastor who would take over
after the death of Charlottesville native William
Gibbons, husband to Isabella Gibbons of the Jefferson
School.
This generation of strivers achieved Priscilla's wildest
dreams, despite emancipation's broken promises.
I am proud to also be a Black alumna of UVA
and share Priscilla's story as we honor our ancestors today.
The descendants of enslaved communities
at the University of Virginia belongs to a growing consortium
of descendants of enslaved laborers from the Commonwealth
dedicated to preserving the memory of the many forgotten
souls who shaped not just the physical
but the political, economic, and cultural landscape
of the University of Virginia, Charlottesville,
and our nation.
Descendant communities are highlighting
the foundational role race-based slavery, white supremacy,
and colonial systems played in building many of our nation's
institutions, including our current systems of finance,
education, health care, and housing.
Empowered descendant voices challenge the public
to consider marginalized interpretations of history
and centers the gaps in ethical education about the history
and ongoing legacies of American chattel slavery.
The DEC at UVA sees the University of Virginia
as an African-American historic site built by the 4,000-plus
enslaved laborers identified through University-led archival
research, and whose biographies continue to be unearthed
by our organization.
The University literally would not
be here were it not for our ancestors.
The descendants have been here since the laying
of the first cornerstone, and we have inextricably
been linked to UVA throughout the generations.
Our ancestors' legacy is, among many things,
the actual university.
To tell the truth and help people reckon
with this history, the descendants
seek to research and reclaim the narrative,
to honor the legacies of enslaved and free
Black communities and their descendants,
and to achieve restorative justice for communities
rooted at the University of Virginia and surrounding
regions.
Through its membership, we strive
to identify, engage, and build community
with the descendants of free and enslaved families associated
with building and sustaining the University of Virginia.
The DEC serves as the collective and unified voice
of all descendants of enslaved and free Black communities
who labored through investments in research, education,
and preservation.
The Descendants of Enslaved Communities
hopes to offer a place of healing and space
for our coalition, and offers a strong framework
for our membership through key partnerships including
the Jefferson School, leaders in the Charlottesville community,
and UVA's Black Alumni.
We remain committed to connecting our memberships
memory and oral histories to archival sources
to build out the biographies of the enslaved and free laborers,
and identifying new descendents through genealogical research.
As students come and go, the descendants
would like to see how the University will activate
a central function within to institutionalize an entity
or unit that would be the active proponent to advocate
for reparative justice and reparations.
Please join us by visiting our website, DescendantsUVA.org
and see how you can reclaim, honor, and repair.
[MUSIC PLAYING]
[SINGING]
Lift every voice and sing till earth and heaven ring,
ring with a harmonies of liberty.
Let our rejoicing rise high as the listening tide, let
it resound loud as the rolling seas.
Sing our song full of the faith that the dark past
has taught us.
Sing our song, full of the hope that the present
has brought us.
Facing the rising sun of a new day begun,
let us march on till victory is won.
Stony the road we trod builder the testing rod,
counting the days when hope unborn had died.
Yet with a steady beat have not a ready feat
come to the place for which our fathers sighed.
We have come over a way that with tears has been watered.
We have come treading our path through the blood
of the slaughtered.
Out from the gloomy past till now
we stand at last, where the bright gleam of a bright star
is cast.
God of our weary years, God of our silent tears,
Thou who has brought us thus far on the way.
Thou who has bowed thy might, let us into the light,
keep us forever in the path, we pray.
Lest our feet stray from the place
ere our God where we met thee.
Lest our hearts drunk with the wine
of the world we forget thee.
Shadow beneath the heaven may we forever stand, true to our God,
true to our native land.