by Herb Frazier
Slavery was legal in all the original thirteen colonies. Most enslaved people lived in the South, but there was a small but significant black presence in the northern settlements also—particularly in Rhode Island, New York, and Pennsylvania. Some of the regions (such as the Hudson River Valley, Long Island, and northern New Jersey) that specialized in supplying foodstuffs and livestock to the Caribbean islands tended to have larger slave labor forces. There were also rural industries (such as tanning and ironworking) that relied heavily on slave labor. In some of the wealthiest agricultural counties of New Jersey in the mid-eighteenth century, male slaves outnumbered free workers.20
While most slaves lived and worked in the countryside, northern slavery was disproportionately urban. Large numbers of women and some men were used in domestic service while others, mainly men, were owned by artisans. Urban slaves were employed in maritime occupations, such as boatmen, sailmakers, dockhands, and fishermen. In most cases urban slave owners only kept one or two people because large numbers simply were not required and could have been a disadvantage given the scarcity and cost of urban housing.
Northern slave usage also influenced certain crucial aspects of black life. Just before the American Revolution, only about one-third of the black adults in Massachusetts were foreign-born, and evidence from New York shows that even the foreign-born black people there typically came from a southern colony, the Caribbean, or some other New World location; there were few direct shipments of people from Africa.21 Since northern masters owned small numbers of slaves and frequently worked along with them, they preferred people who were already at least somewhat acculturated. Even in the countryside it was not unusual for enslaved people to live in their owners’ homes or in a nearby outbuilding. Unlike in the South, there was no separate slave street or quarters. The cultural impact of these factors was that northern slaves acculturated more quickly and extensively to Anglo-American values and behaviors than their southern counterparts.22 By contrast, the black population in the Carolina Lowcountry had so many Africans, who retained and adapted their traditions to the new environment, it created a distinctive African American culture called Gullah. Among other things, it had its own food, language, and spiritual practices.
In the northern colonies the enslaved population maintained some traditional African behaviors and adapted them to the new environment to form a new African-based culture in America. One of the most significant and revealing examples is Negro Election Day. It was an annual celebration throughout New England in which slaves chose leaders, who were then given honorary titles such as governor, selectman, or sheriff. The elections were contested, and often the owners assisted their enslaved workers to get elected by financing parties or other events to build support. During the election period, there were many festivities, culminating in an inaugural ball. In Hartford, Connecticut, when the new black governor was installed, an observer noted he was accompanied by “a troop of blacks, sometimes a hundred in number, marching sometimes two and two, sometimes mounted in true military style and dress on horseback.”23
Negro Election Day featured dances and songs rooted in African culture but also reflective of New World adaptations. Many of the kings or governors elected, however, had some connection to Africa; they might have been born in Africa or claimed descent from African royalty.24 Only a slaveholding regime that was convinced of its hegemony would allow such celebrations. However, these occasions were not conceivable in the South, where the black population was proportionately much larger and potentially more dangerous.
Certain colonies in the North were also distinctive in the legal and customary rights they were willing to cede to the enslaved. The best example is Massachusetts Bay, where the 1641 Body of Liberties (ironically) set conditions under which people could be enslaved. It also conceded that slaves were required to “have all the liberties and Christian usages which the law of God established.” This provision ensured that in Massachusetts court proceedings, slaves and white servants were frequently accorded the same legal rights and protections.25 New York was more typical of the northern colonies—slaves had greater legal protections there than most places in the South. In a 1735 case in which a master was accused of maliciously beating his slave to death, a coroner’s jury held that the death was the “work of God.”26 Decisions like this one in New York made it clear that as long as Africans were chattel, all their supposed rights were at the mercy of those with power.
It is a long and ugly history, and surely the reader wonders why it has taken so long for so many wrongs to be righted in this modern day and age, when we know better. But the reader wonders also what is it that has grown and festered in Dylann Roof’s damaged imagination. What passed-down legacy of America’s history of racism set him, the night of June 17, 2015, on the path to Mother Emanuel? With the church’s past shaped by racial tensions in Charleston, its very existence symbolizes African American tenacity, talent, and triumph. Such a powerful black symbol stands open to attack.
FIVE
REVOLUTIONARY IDEAS AND THE RISE OF AFRICAN METHODISM
When news bulletins about the shooting at Mother Emanuel first flashed across the nation, many had never heard of the African Methodist Episcopal (AME) Church. Even now most Americans would be surprised to learn that this denomination was the first established by African Americans in the country, that it is almost as old as the nation itself, and that the two—the church and the nation—share much in common in their early histories. At the end of the eighteenth century, America was an improbable new nation that had won its independence against all odds from Great Britain, a far superior military power. The founder of the AME Church was Richard Allen, a man whose biography was similarly improbable. Born into slavery, Allen defied the odds to gain his freedom during the American Revolution and then to become bishop of a new branch of Methodism. In addition to biblical tenets, the foundation of the new church drew upon the ideas of the revolutionary era and demanded the nation apply its fundamental creed of liberty and justice to all people.
By the 1760s, the relationship between Great Britain and its thirteen North American colonies had begun to fray because of new taxes and tighter imperial administrative policies to ensure they were actually collected. In Boston, outraged colonists’ ire boiled over in December 1773, when some of them dressed up like Native Americans and dumped tea worth almost two million dollars into the harbor. The depth of their anxiety could be seen in the rhetoric they used to oppose British policy; they charged over and over again that the British intended to reduce them to “slavery.” This was the starkest metaphor they could use and reflected the most hopeless state of dependency they could imagine. Six months after the Boston Tea Party, George Washington suggested the British intended to reduce them “to the most abject state of Slavery that ever was designd [sic] for Mankind.” British designs were also clear to fellow Virginian Patrick Henry. In the most famous speech made before the Virginia House of Burgesses, he asked, “Is life so dear, or peace so sweet, as to be purchased at the price of chains and slavery? . . . I know not what course others may take; but as for me, give me liberty, or give me death!” A month after the famous battles of Lexington and Concord, Washington now lamented that “the once happy and peaceful plains of America are either to be drenched with Blood, or Inhabited by Slaves.”1 Washington chose to lead the Continental Army, and the American Revolutionary War formally began with the Declaration of Independence in 1776.
In the run-up to the revolution, the atmosphere was rife with calls for liberty by American patriots, and when paired with the dreaded metaphor of slavery, the effects were especially striking among the slaves. Enslaved domestics overheard conversations about natural rights at the tables they served. Urban slaves sometimes found copies of pamphlets that justified overthrowing “oppressive” British rule. Not surprisingly, they applied the revolutionary rhetoric to their plight. They wondered how slave owners could decry schemes to “enslave” them, while holding human beings as property. The obvious contradic
tion inspired bold and remarkable actions by some slaves, who called on American political leaders to grant their freedom.
In keeping with the spirit of the era, some patriot leaders began working toward emancipation. Even while the war was still being fought, Pennsylvania passed a law in 1780 that gradually emancipated its slave population. Three years later Massachusetts courts effectively abolished slavery in a decision asserting “all men are born free and equal.” Other states in the region embraced emancipation, and in 1804, well after the war had concluded, New Jersey was the last former colony in the North to institute gradual abolition.2 The impact of the revolutionary philosophy was not universal—slavery remained entrenched in the South—but clearly freedom was on the march in the Northern states, where slavery soon disappeared entirely.
Richard Allen’s life began in Philadelphia in 1760, on the eve of these momentous times. His family was owned by Benjamin Chew, a prominent attorney, but by 1768, Chew sold them to Stokeley Sturgis, whose farm was near Dover, Delaware. Before long their lives were upended again when Sturgis’s financial difficulties forced him to sell off individual members of Allen’s family until only Richard, a brother, and a sister remained together there.3 Richard and his brother were field hands; fortunately for them, Sturgis was not a harsh master. In fact, Allen described him as “what the world called a good master. He was more like a father to his slaves than anything else.” However, their owner remained heavily in debt, and the two brothers worried that upon his death they would simply be auctioned off like any piece of property. Allen confessed that he was sometimes so deeply troubled at this prospect that he was “brought to weep;” this was a major reason why he described slavery as “a bitter pill,” even under a “good” master. Despite it all, Allen continued to hope and even expect that he would be free someday.4
Allen moved closer to achieving his goal once he was introduced to the circuit-riding Methodist preachers who held camp meetings near his farm. He and his brother began attending these meetings, and after recognizing their spiritual depravity, both converted in 1777. But Allen soon began to doubt that he was truly “saved;” he still felt so burdened with sin that he was convinced that hell would be his destiny. But after plaintive cries to God, Allen later wrote, “All of a sudden my dungeon shook, my chains flew off, and glory to God, I cried. My soul was filled.” Finally convinced he was forgiven of his sins, he joined the Methodists and began to exhort his friends about the goodness of God.5
Richard Allen’s affinity for Methodism was not unusual; many slaves preferred the denomination. Its evangelical style, emphasis on the conversion experience rather than formalism and theological complexity, and its message that all souls are spiritually equal and entitled to salvation, along with the use of lay preachers, all made it attractive. The fact that the Methodists were vehemently antislavery at this time didn’t hurt either; the Quakers were the only sect that matched their antislavery zeal.6 From this point on, Richard Allen always associated Methodism with both spiritual and physical freedom.7
Soon Richard Allen obtained his master’s permission to invite Methodist preachers onto his plantation. After several preachers visited over a period of months, the famous minister Freeborn Garrettson, a former slaveholder, came to the Sturgis farm, perhaps in September 1779. After Garrettson delivered a sermon with clear antislavery themes, master Sturgis was convinced slavery was sinful and his soul was in jeopardy because of it. He arranged for Richard and his brother to hire out for wages in order to purchase their freedom, and they started 1780 with great expectations. Their joys must have been magnified when Pennsylvania enacted its gradual emancipation act that year. Even though Allen was unsure how he would make a living or secure the purchase price, he eventually found work chopping wood, working in a brickyard, and driving wagons for the Continental Army. His hard work was rewarded, and in August 1783, he paid two thousand dollars in exchange for freedom. It was an auspicious time: the formal end to the American Revolution followed within days of Richard Allen’s manumission.8 Now having achieved his personal independence, this newly freed man was ready to enter a new nation and make his mark.
The end of the Revolutionary War gave Allen the opportunity to travel, and he launched enthusiastically into preaching. Having already witnessed the power of Methodism to dramatically transform lives, Allen joined with other itinerant preachers and traveled widely, preaching the gospel. In the course of the next few years, he journeyed through New Jersey, Pennsylvania, and Maryland in the company of many well-known clerics. He did so on a volunteer basis, without even the meager compensation the church could provide. He explained, “My usual method was, when I would get bare of clothes, to stop travelling and go to work, so that no man could say I was chargeable to the connexion.”9 Race seems not to have been a serious barrier to Allen’s efforts, as most of those he ministered to were white, and his talent as a preacher won him great success. Nevertheless, he longed to spread the Word more extensively among his own people. The city of Philadelphia provided just such an opportunity, and it was the perfect location for Allen.
Symbolically Philadelphia was a city that stood for freedom. In the conflict with Britain, leading to the revolution, it was host to the First and Second Continental Congresses, where American leaders criticized imperial rule and finally signed the Declaration of Independence. The city was home to large numbers of Quakers, whose abolitionist sentiments were widely known. They inspired creation of the Pennsylvania Abolition Society, the oldest antislavery organization in the English-speaking world, in 1775, just days before the famous battles at Lexington and Concord. The society continues to operate today. Slavery was in rapid decline in the city also. In 1765, Philadelphia only had about one hundred free blacks and fourteen hundred slaves. But by 1783, free blacks had soared to more than one thousand people, and the slave population was reduced to around four hundred. Philadelphia was a major center of Methodism, and the first meeting of its itinerant ministers was held there at St. George’s Church.10
In February 1786, Richard Allen was called to Philadelphia by the elder in charge of St. George’s Church and began preaching there. He relished the opportunity to minister to his “African brethren,” whom he described as “a long forgotten people”—only a few of which ever attended regular church service. Allen gained the support of the leadership of black members and began preaching as early as five o’clock in the morning and frequently delivered four or five sermons a day. One of his supporters, Absalom Jones, worked with Allen as he established prayer meetings and a society of forty-two people. Allen soon proposed a separate building for the black members, but with the exception of Jones and two others, this plan was rejected by the most influential African Americans in the city, as well as by the white leadership at St. George’s.11 As Allen’s ministry flourished, more blacks attended the services, and many were forced to stand along the walls; finally black members were confined to seats in the balcony. A dispute over seats in this area resulted in white officers attempting to physically remove Jones as he prayed. The date for this incident is not clear due to ambiguity in the record, but it seems to have been around 1792. Regardless of the date, black members’ response was unequivocal. Allen reported, “We all went out of the church in a body, and they were no more plagued with us.”12
When black members left St. George’s Church, they gravitated to the Free African Society, which had been organized in 1787, under the leadership of Allen and Jones, who had become concerned about the “irreligious and uncivilized state” in which most African Americans found themselves. The goal of the Free African Society was to promote mutual aid, social uplift, and ecumenical spiritual growth; all who led lives of Christian virtue were eligible for membership. The first meetings were held at Allen’s home until the membership grew too large. Dues were paid monthly; a committee visited members and monitored their spiritual and moral condition, and in the case of illness or death, the society provided financial support. The organization held religious se
rvices and served as a temporary “church home” for those who left St. George’s.13
Sectarian differences within the group eventually produced two different black congregations. The majority of those who left St. George’s opted for the Episcopal tradition and remained under the authority of the Episcopal Church. This group established St. Thomas’s African Episcopal Church during the summer of 1794, under Jones’s leadership; it was the first black Episcopal church in the United States.14 Allen remained committed to the Methodist tradition because of what it had done for him and because he believed it was particularly suited to the genius and sensibilities of African Americans. He relocated a blacksmith shop to land he’d purchased in 1791, and this became the home of the original Bethel AME Church, also dedicated in the summer of 1794.15 This was the first church in a new African American denomination.
When Richard Allen initially proposed an African church while at St. George’s, the white minister was dismissive and, Allen recalled, “used very degrading and insulting language to us, to try and prevent us from going on.” Once black members physically left the church, St. George’s officials launched a sustained campaign of vilification and intimidation against them. They claimed that the Allen group had violated church law by establishing a separate body and that Bethel actually belonged to the conference rather than to its black members. The elder at St. George’s claimed spiritual authority over the church; he claimed the right to preach there whenever he desired and to assign others to that pulpit at will. On more than one occasion when the elder attempted to take charge, he found his path to the pulpit physically blocked by Bethel members. Ultimately the elder at St. George’s took the dispute to the Supreme Court of Pennsylvania, which handed down a decision in 1816 favoring the autonomy of Bethel AME Church.16 It had been an arduous struggle, and success was far from certain. But according to one observer, men such as Richard Allen and Absalom Jones were “animated with some of the spirit of those days, resolved to introduce a new order of things among themselves.”17 They shared this penchant for liberty with the founders of the new nation, and it, along with their tenacity, carried them on to an improbable victory.
