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History (Education)

A historic plantation went up in flames, but people's reactions to it are the real story

The Nottoway Plantation had been turned into a luxury event space that glossed over its history of enslavement.

Bogdan Oporowski/Wikimedia Commons

The 53,000 square foot Nottoway mansion before it burned down in May of 2025.

For generations, the way Southern plantations have been portrayed and viewed by the American public has been a point of contention. For some, the sprawling grounds and grandiose mansions are viewed romantically, the beauty of them hearkening to wealthy aspirations and a nostalgic allure of Southern charm a la "Gone With the Wind." For others, plantations are a painful reminder of the plight of the Black Americans who worked the grounds and tended the crops of white plantation owners who enriched themselves off the backs of enslaved people trapped in a heinous system enforced by racism.

It's easy to see how those two perspectives can clash. And the tension between them was placed front and center on May 15, 2025, as the Nottoway Resort, the largest remaining antebellum plantation in the U.S., went up in flames. The 64-room mansion was built between 1857 and 1859 for its wealthy owner John Hampden Randolph, who enslaved 150+ people to work his sugar cane farm. As news and images of the blaze went viral, reactions were starkly divided. While some lamented the loss, others cheered with cries of "Good riddance!" and "Burn, baby, burn!"

The fact that Nottaway was marketed as a "resort" and a popular event venue, as opposed to a museum dedicated to sharing the full history of the plantation, is a big impetus behind the celebratory sentiment. Some plantations have been converted into purely educational facilities in which visitors learn how those beautiful places were built and maintained by slaves, but Nottoway wasn't one of them.

Historian and lecturer on the history of slavery Dr. Andrea Livesey visited Nottoway in 2019 and was horrified by how the slavery history was glossed over.

The plantation does have a museum, Livesey shared, which only included one board about slavery. "It tells visitors that 'various records indicate they were treated well for the time," she wrote, adding that those records likely all came from the enslavers.

Even the Nottoway website is thoroughly lacking in historical information. As of the day of the fire, the History section of the website shares details about the 16 historic oak trees on the property. That's it. (There's literally nothing else about the property's history, which is an odd choice.)

But it's the drastically different reactions to the mansion's destruction that mark this moment in time more than anything else. Over 150 years after slavery was officially abolished, we are still grappling with that history, intellectually and viscerally. In some cases, we learned drastically different versions of that part of our history, which of course doesn't help. But even if we're looking at the same exact historical record in its accurate entirety, we see that history through different lenses colored by our individual and familial histories, experiences, and biases.

What shouldn't be hard to see is the pain that enslavement caused generation after generation of Black families and how plantations being relished in for their architectural beauty while ignoring how and why they were built and the atrocities that took place on them could feel like a slap in the face. Even the elementary knowledge of the history of slavery in American ought to make that clear.

But many Americans have been conditioned to downplay the history of slavery, as if it wasn't the long atrocity that it was. Is holding a wedding or a party at a plantation markedly different than throwing a picnic at Auschwitz because the train station makes a beautiful backdrop? Some would argue it's not.

And yet, some people are sad to see the mansion burn, lamenting the loss of its magnificent architectural grandeur. Instead of "Yes, it's beautiful, but the slavery part ruins it," some see it as, "Yes, slavery was terrible, but it's still a beautiful building." Whether those are equally valid perspectives or not, those different lenses is where much of the debate over slavery-era historical places and monuments lies.

Marketing a plantation as a luxury event space while ignoring its oppressive history feels wrong. But does watching it burn to the ground feel right? For some, it definitely does, which begs some questions: What role do visceral feelings have in the debate over what to do with places and things that were created via and for the perpetuation of slavery? What role does white supremacy still play in who gets to make those decisions? Is it possible to turn a plantation into a place where everyone feels like their ancestral history is being honored? These and other questions need serious consideration and discussion as America continues to reckon with its own history.

One plantation that has been turned into an educational monument seems to have struck a reasonable balance. Less than an hour's drive from Nottoway, the Whitney Plantation is a non-profit museum "dedicated to truth-telling about America's past." It does not shy away from its history, but rather invites visitors to dive in. Like Nottoway, Whitney was primarily a sugar plantation, which made it all the more tragic for the enslaved people forced to work there. Sugar was a particularly brutal crop. The life expectancy for slaves on sugar cane farms was dramatically lower than those on cotton plantations—around 7 years—and being sold to Louisiana for sugar production was often considered a death sentence.

Knowing that full history, it's hard to see a plantation used as a resort and event venue and it's understandable that people might revel in its demise. Would there be the same kind of sentiment if Whitney burned? Probably not, or at least not to the degree that Nottoway's destruction has seen. Perhaps now's a prime time to discuss the respectful, appropriate ways to handle historic places with problematic histories, to let the ashes of the past fertilize our collective future.


Racist jokes are one of the more frustrating manifestations of racism. Jokes in general are meant to be a shared experience, a connection over a mutual sense of humor, a rush of feel-good chemicals that bond us to those around us through laughter.

So when you mix jokes with racism, the result is that racism becomes something light and fun, as opposed to the horrendous bane that it really is.

The harm done with racist humor isn't just the emotional hurt they can cause. When a group of white people shares jokes at the expense of a marginalized or oppressed racial group, the power of white supremacy is actually reinforced—not only because of the "punching down" nature of such humor, but because of the group dynamics that work in favor of maintaining the status quo.

British author and motivational speaker Paul Scanlon shared a story about interrupting a racist joke at a table of white people at an event in the U.S, and the lessons he drew from it illustrate this idea beautifully. Watch:



Speaking up in a group setting where people have an unspoken sense of solidarity is difficult. Giving up social capital and being seen as a breaking a code of sorts is uncomfortable. But that that difficulty and discomfort are not excuses for staying quiet. As Scanlon points out, our silence is not benign, it's malignant. Keeping quiet while a racist joke is being told and laughed at is harmful because it allows racism to go unchecked and white supremacy to remain secure.

An important point Scanlon makes is that not only do white folks allow harm to take place when we remain silent in the face of a friend, family member, colleague, or acquaintance making a racist joke, but we are actually rewarded for saying nothing. We maintain a sense of solidarity, we gain social capital, we're seeing as agreeable and establish a sense of belonging. Those rewards are an insidious form of racism that many white people aren't even aware we participate in. And we have to decide ahead of time that we're going to give up that reward and embrace the inevitable awkwardness in order to do the right thing.

We have to decide that ending racism is more important than embarrassment. The more people who stand firm in that decision, the less awkward it will become and the sooner we can redefine what social capital and solidarity really mean.


This article originally appeared on 6.30.20

The true forgotten history of the Underground Railroad to Mexico

Most of us learn about the Underground Railroad at some point in elementary school. There's not much detail that goes into the brief section on the secret pathway to freedom escaped enslaved people embarked on but we do learn it was dangerous. Enslaved people would plot their escape and find designated stops at the homes and churches of abolitionists where they could eat, drink water and get some rest.

The route also included other safe spaces along the way like certain marked trees, body's of water or other landmarks but we mainly hear about the path to norther states. That wasn't the only direction enslaved people were fleeing, many enslaved people fled further south. Mexico first abolished slavery in 1829, a process that started as soon as they gained their independence from Spain after their 11 year battle ended in 1821. But colonists in Texas utilized slave labor and refused to stop though they were a Mexican territory.

This initially resulted in the Mexican president Vicente Guerrero providing Texas with an exemption but citizens of Mexico were not on board with this. They wanted slavery abolished in all Mexican states and eventually the Mexican Congress outlawed it in all states in 1837 after Texas fought for independence in an effort to keep their slaves.

File:Vicente Guerrero (1865).png - Wikipediaen.m.wikipedia.org

When Mexico first abolished slavery, people in Texas that used slave labor started making their enslaved workers sign contracts saying they were "servants" who agreed to work for them until they died. They even had children as young as three years old "sign" contracts seemingly finding a loophole to the new law. Given that enslaved people were not allowed to lean how to read, it's highly unlikely they knew what they were signing. It didn't take long for those sorts of documents to not be accepted by the Mexican government.

But after Texas seceded from Mexico, enslaved people realized that if they could make the short trip to the Rio Grande, they'd be a quick boat ride away from freedom so many of them took the opportunity to flee. Mexico adjusted its laws to accommodate the influx of fugitive slaves by declaring any enslaved person who step foot on Mexican soil were considered Mexican citizens. This granted countless enslaved Black people freedom in Mexico.

Mexico was not unfamiliar with Black Mexican citizens as there was already a population of enslaved people brought to the country with Spain invaded. In fact, it was Afro-Mexicans that helped lead the Mexican rebellion against their Spanish colonizer leading to the independence of the country. Given the history between the two groups of people, it's unsurprising that the then newly formed Mexican government would work to abolish slavery and secure a plan for freedom for escaped slaves.

Most of the enslaved people that fled to Mexico were from plantations in Texas but there were also some that escaped from Louisiana to seek refuge in the southern country. There are still towns in Mexico that have large populations of Afro-Mexicans, including one started by escaped slaves from plantations run by Spanish captors before Mexico gained its independence.

Auction of enslaved people at Richmond, Virginia | Original … | Flickrwww.flickr.com

The documentary "Just a Ferry Ride to Freedom" documents this history of allyship between enslaved people and Mexicans in great detail. People can watch the documentary for free on YouTube to learn more about the Underground Railroad south.

Identity

Formerly enslaved man's response to his 'master' wanting him back is a literary masterpiece

"I would rather stay here and starve — and die, if it come to that — than have my girls brought to shame by the violence and wickedness of their young masters."

A photo of Jordan Anderson.

In 1825, at the approximate age of 8, Jordan Anderson (sometimes spelled "Jordon") was sold into slavery and would live as a servant of the Anderson family for 39 years. In 1864, the Union Army camped out on the Anderson plantation and Jordan and his wife, Amanda, were liberated. The couple eventually made it safely to Dayton, Ohio, where, in July 1865, Jordan received a letter from his former owner, Colonel P.H. Anderson. The letter kindly asked Jordan to return to work on the plantation because it had fallen into disarray during the war.

On Aug. 7, 1865, Jordan dictated his response through his new boss, Valentine Winters, and it was published in the Cincinnati Commercial. The letter, entitled "Letter from a Freedman to His Old Master," was not only hilarious, but it showed compassion, defiance, and dignity. That year, the letter would be republished in theNew York Daily Tribune and Lydia Marie Child's The Freedman's Book.

The letter mentions a "Miss Mary" (Col. Anderson's Wife), "Martha" (Col. Anderson's daughter), Henry (most likely Col. Anderson's son), and George Carter (a local carpenter).

Dayton, Ohio,
August 7, 1865
To My Old Master, Colonel P.H. Anderson, Big Spring, Tennessee

Sir: I got your letter, and was glad to find that you had not forgotten Jordon, and that you wanted me to come back and live with you again, promising to do better for me than anybody else can. I have often felt uneasy about you. I thought the Yankees would have hung you long before this, for harboring Rebs they found at your house. I suppose they never heard about your going to Colonel Martin's to kill the Union soldier that was left by his company in their stable. Although you shot at me twice before I left you, I did not want to hear of your being hurt, and am glad you are still living. It would do me good to go back to the dear old home again, and see Miss Mary and Miss Martha and Allen, Esther, Green, and Lee. Give my love to them all, and tell them I hope we will meet in the better world, if not in this. I would have gone back to see you all when I was working in the Nashville Hospital, but one of the neighbors told me that Henry intended to shoot me if he ever got a chance.

I want to know particularly what the good chance is you propose to give me. I am doing tolerably well here. I get twenty-five dollars a month, with victuals and clothing; have a comfortable home for Mandy, — the folks call her Mrs. Anderson, — and the children — Milly, Jane, and Grundy — go to school and are learning well. The teacher says Grundy has a head for a preacher. They go to Sunday school, and Mandy and me attend church regularly. We are kindly treated. Sometimes we overhear others saying, "Them colored people were slaves" down in Tennessee. The children feel hurt when they hear such remarks; but I tell them it was no disgrace in Tennessee to belong to Colonel Anderson. Many darkeys would have been proud, as I used to be, to call you master. Now if you will write and say what wages you will give me, I will be better able to decide whether it would be to my advantage to move back again.

As to my freedom, which you say I can have, there is nothing to be gained on that score, as I got my free papers in 1864 from the Provost-Marshal-General of the Department of Nashville. Mandy says she would be afraid to go back without some proof that you were disposed to treat us justly and kindly; and we have concluded to test your sincerity by asking you to send us our wages for the time we served you. This will make us forget and forgive old scores, and rely on your justice and friendship in the future. I served you faithfully for thirty-two years, and Mandy twenty years. At twenty-five dollars a month for me, and two dollars a week for Mandy, our earnings would amount to eleven thousand six hundred and eighty dollars. Add to this the interest for the time our wages have been kept back, and deduct what you paid for our clothing, and three doctor's visits to me, and pulling a tooth for Mandy, and the balance will show what we are in justice entitled to. Please send the money by Adams's Express, in care of V. Winters, Esq., Dayton, Ohio. If you fail to pay us for faithful labors in the past, we can have little faith in your promises in the future. We trust the good Maker has opened your eyes to the wrongs which you and your fathers have done to me and my fathers, in making us toil for you for generations without recompense. Here I draw my wages every Saturday night; but in Tennessee there was never any pay-day for the negroes any more than for the horses and cows. Surely there will be a day of reckoning for those who defraud the laborer of his hire.

In answering this letter, please state if there would be any safety for my Milly and Jane, who are now grown up, and both good-looking girls. You know how it was with poor Matilda and Catherine. I would rather stay here and starve — and die, if it come to that — than have my girls brought to shame by the violence and wickedness of their young masters. You will also please state if there has been any schools opened for the colored children in your neighborhood. The great desire of my life now is to give my children an education, and have them form virtuous habits.

Say howdy to George Carter, and thank him for taking the pistol from you when you were shooting at me.

From your old servant,
Jordon Anderson

Learn more about Jordan Anderson here.


This article originally appeared eight years ago.