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u.s. history

The Statue of Liberty has broken shackles at her feet, which people can't really see.

If Americans were asked to describe the Statue of Liberty without looking at it, most of us could probably describe her long robe, the crown on her head, a lighted torch in her right hand and a tablet cradled in her left. Some might remember it's inscribed with the date of the American Declaration of Independence, July 4, 1776.

But there's a significant detail most of us would miss. It's a feature that points to why Lady Liberty was created and gifted to us in the first place. At her feet, where her robe drapes the ground, lay a broken shackle and chains—a symbol of the abolishment of slavery.

statue of liberty, chains, broken shackles, anti-slavery, abolitionThe Statue of Liberty bears broken shackles at her feet.Photo credit: Canva (left), Atsme (right)

Most people see the Statue of Liberty as a symbol of our welcoming immigrants and mistakenly assume that's what she was meant to represent. Indeed, the opening words of Emma Lazarus's poem engraved on a plaque at the Statue of Liberty—"Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free"—have long evoked images of immigrants arriving on our shores, seeking a better life in The American Dream.

But that plaque wasn't added to the statue until 1903, nearly two decades after the statue was unveiled. The original inspiration for the monument was emancipation, not immigration.

According to a Washington Post interview with historian Edward Berenson, the concept of Lady Liberty originated when French anti-slavery activist—and huge fan of the United States' Constitution—Édouard de Laboulaye organized a meeting of other French abolitionists in Versailles in June 1865, just a few months after the American Civil War ended. "They talked about the idea of creating some kind of commemorative gift that would recognize the importance of the liberation of the slaves," Berenson said.

Laboulaye enlisted a sculptor, Frédéric-Auguste Bartholdi, to come up with ideas. One of the first models, circa 1870, had Lady Liberty holding the broken shackles and chains in her left hand. In the final iteration, her left hand wrapped around a tablet instead and the anti-slavery symbolism of the shackle and chain was moved to her feet.

Dr. Joy DeGruy, author of "Post-Traumatic Slave Syndrome: America's Legacy of Enduring Injury and Healing," often shares the story of how the chains were moved and how the shackles have been a neglected piece of Lady Liberty's history, even for those who visited the landmark. As she points out, both the shackles at her feet and the history of why they are there have been "hidden in plain sight."

Writer Robin Wright pondered in The New Yorker what Laboulaye would think of our country today. The America that found itself embroiled in yet another civil rights movement in 2020 because we still can't seem to get the whole "liberty and justice for all" thing down pat. The America that spent the century after slavery enacting laws and policies specifically designed to keep Black Americans down, followed by decades of continued social, economic and political oppression. The America that sometimes does the right thing, but only after tireless activism manages to break through a ton of resistance to changing the racism-infused status quo.

The U.S. has juggled dichotomies and hypocrisies in our national identity from the very beginning. The same founding father who declared "that all men are created equal" enslaved more than 600 human beings in his lifetime. The same people who celebrated religious freedom forced their Christian faith on Native peoples. Our most celebrated history of "liberty" and "freedom" is inseparable from our country's violent subjugation of entire races and ethnicities, and yet we compartmentalize rather than acknowledge that two things can be equally true at the same time.

declaration of independence, founding fathers, u.s. history, american revolutionThe signing of the Declaration of IndependenceJohn Trumbull

Every nation on earth has problematic history, but what makes the U.S. different is that our problematic history is also our proudest history. Our nation was founded during the heyday of the transatlantic slave trade on land that was already occupied. The profound and world-changing document on which our government was built is the same document that was used to legally protect and excuse the enslavement of Black people. The house in which the President of the United States sits today was built partially by enslaved people. The deadliest war we've ever fought was over the "right" to enslave Black people.

The truth is that blatant, violent racism was institutionalized from the very beginning of this country. For most of us, that truth has always been treated as a footnote rather than a feature in our history educations. Until we really reckon with the full truth of our history—which it seems like we are finally starting to do—we won't ever get to see the full measure of what our country could be.

statue of liberty, american history, abolition, u.s. symbolismThe Statue of Liberty symbolizes American freedom and liberty that we're still grappling with.Photo credit: Canva

In some ways, the evolution of the design of the Statue of Liberty—the moving of the broken shackle and chain from her hands to being half hidden beneath her robe, as well as the movement of our perception of her symbolism from abolition to immigration—is representative of how we've chosen to portray ourselves as a nation. We want people to think: Hey, look at our Declaration of Independence! See how we welcome immigrants! We're so great! (Oh, by the way, hereditary, race-based chattel slavery was a thing for longer than emancipation has been on our soil. And then there was the 100 years of Jim Crow. Not to mention how we've broken every promise made to Native Americans. And honestly, we haven't even been that nice to immigrants either). But look, independence and a nod to immigration! We're so great!

The thing is that we can be so great. The foundation of true liberty and justice for all, even with all its cracks, is still there. The vision in our founding documents was truly revolutionary. We just have to decide to actually build the country we claim to have built—one that truly lives up to the values and ideals it professes for all people.

This article first appeared five years ago and has been updated.

This article includes racially offensive terminology and imagery in a historical context.

Black History Month was established to encourage Americans to dive into history that has long been overlooked. From black champions of civil rights, to black inventors and innovators, to black musicians and mathematicians, we learn about people whose accomplishments haven't always been celebrated. From slavery to Jim Crow laws to mass incarceration, we also learn how our country's legal and justice system practices have systematically oppressed black Americans for centuries.


But sometimes slice of overlooked history hits us so forcefully we have a hard time believing we'd never heard of it—or if it's even true.

Posts have been circulating on social media showing an old, black-and-white photo of kids playing a game called "Hit the N****r Baby," where they throw baseballs at black people's heads for fun. Such carnival games, also known as "African Dodger," "Hit the Negro," or "Hit the Coon," were still played as late as the 1950s.

Jim Crow Museum/YouTube

Snopes says that the "Hit the N****r Baby" photo came from a 1942 YMCA brochure for Camp Minikani, a children's summer camp in Wisconsin. So not only was this game played, but it was acceptable enough to have been included in a freaking camp brochure.

It's so jarring and appalling to most modern sensibilities, it's hard to fathom how such blatant racism was ever the norm—but it was. And it wasn't even that long ago. My own mother was alive when these games were played, and her mother is still living. Two generations of my own family lived when "Hit the N****r Baby" was a considered cute carnival game. And not just in the South, which we know aired its racism out in the open, but all the way up in Wisconsin. That blows my mind.

The Jim Crow Museum at Ferris State University goes into disturbing detail about how these these games were played and the dehumanization of the people used as targets. A video on YouTube shows how black Americans were used as targets of violence for white people's entertainment for decades. (Please be advised that the video includes racially offensive terms and imagery.)

www.youtube.com

This is reason 234,007 why when white folks try to claim that the oppression of black people in America was sooooo long ago, I have to shake my head and blink a few times. Blatant, proud white supremacy was normal for the vast majority of American history—especially in the southern U.S., but not exclusively. People act as if, when slavery was abolished, all the proud white supremacy that fueled it just magically dissipated—but clearly that wasn't the case or we wouldn't have ended up with Jim Crow laws. And it's not like when Jim Crow laws were eliminated a century after slavery ended, all the proud white supremacy that fueled those just magically disappeared. A sweeping change of laws is not the same as a sweeping change of heart.

There are inevitably going to be some "get over it" folks who will complain about this history being brought up, as if it's better to just forget what happened in the past. That's quite convenient for the people who aren't directly and negatively impacted by the history of white supremacy, and quite unfair to the people who are.

Assuming most of us find the content of this video appalling, we have come pretty far in just a generation or two, so that's a somewhat silver lining. But at the same time, the FBI has warned about white supremacist terrorism, and "white nationalism" has become a politically palatable label for far too many people. Citing FBI statistics, New York Magazine's Intelligencer states, "hate-crime violence hit a 16-year high in 2018 with the black, Jewish, Latino, and transgender communities being targeted more than ever."

Clearly we still have more work to do toward eliminating white supremacy, internalizing racial equality, and establishing true racial justice. Hopefully seeing this heinous, relatively recent chapter of our history will lead to recognition of the racism that has been prevalent since our founding, as well as a reckoning of the injustices that the U.S. has still not atoned for.

Hey! Here's a thing many Americans don't — but should — know:

[rebelmouse-image 19534219 dam="1" original_size="839x991" caption="All illustrations by Levi Hastings and Josh Trujillo. Comic published in full on The Nib." expand=1]All illustrations by Levi Hastings and Josh Trujillo. Comic published in full on The Nib.

That's right! A gay dude played a pivotal role in America's independence.

Friedrich Wilhelm August Heinrich Ferdinand Steuben — known in the history books as Baron von Steuben — was one of America's most prominent and influential military officials during its war for independence. He was also gay.


"Every kid grows up looking for role models," says Levi Hastings, who created the comic images in this article alongside fellow artist Josh Trujillo. (The comic is published in full on The Nib.) "Queer people have changed the world since the beginning of time and there is no excuse to hide that fact."

Von Steuben, originally from Prussia, made a name for himself fighting in Europe's Seven Years' War. After the conflict, however, his queerness got him kicked out of Germany, where homosexuality had been criminalized. (I guess it didn't matter how much of a badass he was on the battlefield — a guy who likes guys was just a no-go.)

Benjamin Franklin wasn't hung up on von Steuben's taste for the fellas, though.

Franklin, an American, was in Paris searching out bright and promising military talent to help the embattled rebels defeat the British. (And by "embattled," I mean struggling hardcore — seriously, the Americans were in dire shape.)

Even though Franklin was aware of von Steuben's controversial past, he also knew von Steuben's military know-how could be vital in helping the Continental Army pull off an upset. So he wrote to George Washington, pushing the nation's future first president to consider von Steuben's accomplishments.

And voila! Washington liked what he learned, so Von Steuben cruised stateside to join the revolution.

Von Steuben quickly became a critical leader who helped the Americans turn a corner in the war.

He was a fierce fighter and drill master, sure. But von Steuben's genius was most visible in how he kept military camps up and running, and its men in tip-top shape. He streamlined basic protocols — like how to set up camp and ensure the area remains clean and disease-free — which played a crucial role in saving resources and keeping men alive.

He was a (literal) life-saver. And his leadership is why some historians have dubbed him "the father of the American military."

Also, he barely spoke any English! (Shoutout to those handy translators in America's earliest, most vulnerable years.)

Artwork full on The Nib.

Von Steuben's ideas on camp operations and personnel management eventually made it to print in the "Blue Book" — a set of standards adopted by the U.S. Army. Incredibly, many of its same ideas are still used today.

After the Revolutionary War, von Steuben lived out his final days on a nice property in Valley Forge given to him by a grateful Washington.

There, I imagine he napped his afternoons away and enjoyed the company of his ... um ... "sons."

Yes, von Steuben — who never married or had biological children — officially adopted Gen. (and future U.S. Sen.) William North, as well as Capt. Benjamin Walker, with whom he had an "extraordinarily intense emotional relationship." Laws — and certainly our understanding of LGBTQ relationships — were a bit different back then.

By now you may be thinking, "OK, so one of our military leaders was gay. Who cares?"

But von Steuben's identity as a queer man — which, in many ways, has been brushed over or erased entirely — really does matter.

"For every Von Stueben, there are a thousand other queer people we forget about," Hastings says. We often don't realize it, but LGBTQ people helped shape history throughout the ages in ways both big and small. "There's so much work to do, but I hope our comics help expand our understanding of history."

"Especially now, we have to celebrate the achievements of queer figures," Trujillo adds. "There are those that will purposefully overlook us, or try to forget that we exist at all. It's vital everyone recognizes that we're here, we have always been here, and we always will be here."

Captivated by von Steuben's story? Same. You can check out the whole comic that tells the story of his role in the Revolutionary War over at The Nib. You can also watch von Steuben's story — told in hilariously drunken fashion — on Comedy Central's "Drunk History" below:

Do you want a college experience filled with dope music, black culture, and Beyoncé as the dean of all that is black excellence?

You should sign up for Beyoncé University.  

Photo by Kevin Winter/Getty Images for Coachella.


We got to take a class during this year's Coachella festival. The incredible singer and performer, also known as "Queen Bey," became the first black woman to headline a Coachella music festival. Naturally, her life performance oozed with pure, unparalleled black excellence. And the internet audience? Well, they were pretty damn floored.  

Between the incredible vocals, remarkable costumes, and dance moves that would've made the King of Pop jealous, her performance illustrates the epitome of hard work and perfection that she is. But even beyond the theatrics, the entire root of Beyoncé’s performance was based in a powerful central part of black culture.      

Beyoncé used her concert performance to pay homage to historically black colleges and universities, a staple of black culture and education.

Photo by Larry Busacca/Getty Images for Coachella.

We knew Beyoncé wasn’t playing around when she kicked off her performance with "Lift Every Voice and Sing," the black national anthem written by James Weldon Johnson and set to music by his brother John Rosamond Johnson. But audiences were in awe at an entire set and musical foundation dedicated to the music and culture of HBCUs.

In theory, HBCUs were really one of the first "safe spaces" for black people to be educated. Established after the Civil War, HBCUs began popping up largely in the South when predominantly white institutions impeded black students from enrolling in their institutions. Black academics and scholars like Booker T. Washington and Mary McLeod Bethune helped establish these institutions so black students could safely pursue higher education and obtain the resulting possible opportunities.    

In these HBCUs, black culture continued to develop and flourish. Sororities and fraternities like Delta Sigma Theta and Alpha Phi Alpha were developed to support black women and men, and marching bands, dancing crews, and Greek life step shows became a core cultural staple at football games, dances, and other recreational events.    

Photo by Kevin Winter/Getty Images for Coachella.

With budget cuts and systematic racism, HBCUs have struggled with funding, enrollment, and other challenges to keep the institution and culture alive. But, HBCUs still matter. As black students look toward educational communities that are both safe and empowering, the HBCU structure is more culturally relevant than ever. Beyoncé's visible used of black women dancers, HBCU marching bands, and an adorable play of (safe) Greek hazing was heartwarming and empowering for black communities around the country.

My parents were educated at an HBCU, and marching bands were as much a part of my life as American football. But, it was always in the confines of predominantly black spaces. Beyoncé’s performance — in front of a largely white crowd — was about as rich and authentic as it gets. The fact that it was broadcast for the world to see was awesome, and a great example of how important cultural pride can be.

If Bey University is anything like Beyoncé's show, where do we sign up?