Vol. XIX, Issue 2 (Spring 2012): The 2012 Amistad Lecture |
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BOARD: Gloria Emeagwali Walton Brown-Foster Haines Brown ISSN 1526-7822 REGIONAL EDITORS: Olayemi Akinwumi
TECHNICAL ADVISOR: Jennifer Nicoletti
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Table of Contents
Editorial
The Ninth Annual Amistad Lecture was delivered at Central Connecticut
State University, by Professor Abdul Karim Bangura of
Howard University, on February 28, 2012.
This year the Amistad Committee
of CCSU continued the focus on the life and times of the Amistad
returnees to Sierra Leone. Dr.
Bangura is Professor of Research Methodology and Political Science
at Howard University. He is also Researcher- In -Residence on Abrahamic
Connections and Islamic Peace Studies at the Center for Global Peace at
American University, Washington, DC. He holds a PhD in Political
Science; a PhD in Development Economics; a PhD in Linguistics; a PhD in
Computer Science; and a PhD in Mathematics. He is the author of 65 books
and more than 550 articles. He is the winner of numerous teaching,
scholarly and community service awards. He speaks a dozen African
languages and six European languages, and is studying to strengthen his
proficiency in Arabic, Hebrew, and Hieroglyphics. Dr.
Bangura was born in Sierra Leone. Dr. Abdul Karim Bangura
received the 9th ANNUAL AMISTAD AWARD for his contributions
to Human Rights Discourse and his contribution to academic research.
We thank him for this illuminating analysis.
Dr. Gloria Emeagwali
Chief Editor, Africa Update
The Life and
Times of the Amistad Returnees to Sierra Leone and Their Impact: A
Pluridisciplinary Exploration
Introduction
I would like to begin this lecture by expressing my profound gratitude
for the honor bestowed upon me by the
Amistad Committee of Central
Connecticut State University to deliver a lecture on a dehumanizing
activity (i.e. slavery) which some of my ancestors—King Moriba
Kunda/Kindo Bangura (17?-1825) and King Namina Modu Bangura
(17?-1840s)—fought against. Others,
King Yan Koba Bangura (18?-1860) and King Bai Bureh Kabalai
(1840-1908)— were deposed or their positions abolished by the British
for their refusal to tax their citizens for Britain’s colonial
machinations. And to be named the recipient of the very prestigious
Amistad Award named after a
major world historical event that began in and whose major actors were
from my country of birth, Sierra Leone, is exhilarating.
My
first work on the Amistad
story was in 1998 when the
Amistad film came out and I was invited to give a lecture at the
Amistad Forum on the Life of
Sengbe Pieh (later known in the United States as Joseph Cinqué) for the
Spring Arts Festival at Bowie State University in Maryland on April 13.
In that lecture, I began with an observation made by Professor Warren
Goldstein of the University of Hartford that we students of history
are in a bind these days: If we dig
up and interpret evidence, reinterpret what others have found, we are
frequently accused of high ideological crimes. When our work challenges
self-congratulatory mythology, critics like Rush Limbaugh call us
“revisionists,” hell bent on defacing American democracy and Western
civilization. If, on the other hand, we object to inaccuracies in
historical novels and films, we are labeled as pedantic, humorless,
“scholar-squirrels” who collect and bank obscure facts until the day we
can rain them down on somebody’s artistic parade.
Consequently, many of us who are students of history hide. We do not
write for the larger public. We avoid the politics of museum displays.
We discuss historical films or other ways that history shows up in
popular culture only with our colleagues and students. Except in our
classrooms, we students of history pull our punches. If we do not have
tenure, we are careful even in our classrooms.
Not
all historical ignorance is immediately costly. But in recent years, the
popularity of several “historical” films has raised anew the question of
whether students of history have an obligation to try to correct
distortions. Does it really matter that Steven Spielberg and Debbie
Allen (both fellow alumni from relatively progressive universities, The
American University and Howard University, respectively) have played
fast and loose with the historical record in
Amistad?
I
did not always think so. I was moved by
Amistad, even with its
corniness and the just-in-time legal heroics that saved Pieh and his
compatriots from the dredges of slavery. After all, I reasoned, the mere
fact that Sierra Leone was mentioned on the big screen, shaped by
Spielberg and Allen’s talents, seen by millions of non-Sierra Leoneans,
made the film worthwhile. But I did not know much about the
Amistad before then. I had
heard lots of stories and read a few encyclopedic entries. However,
knowing something as a student of history is different.
I
saw Amistad with the hope
that the film—the story of 53 captive Africans who mutinied aboard the
slave ship La Amistad
(meaning in Spanish
“friendship”0 in 1839, were recaptured, and finally were freed by the
United States Supreme Court, after a two-year legal battle—would help me
explain the story to my students. After all, Debbie Allen had asserted
that Amistad was designed to
dramatize an allegedly “suppressed” story of Black rebellion and
victory. Unfortunately, except for some powerful, albeit melodramatic
and disturbing, scenes of enslaved Africans that were being transported
from Africa, Spielberg and Allen sacrificed history for mythology. Yet
we students of history, especially Africans, must say nothing. We are
supposed to be grateful that someone has finally put the horrors of
slavery and the name of Sierra Leone on the big screen.
However, the price is too high. The history in
Amistad is frequently
incomprehensible, and misleading when it is not just plain wrong. Simply
put, it is bad history that is bad for culture. So, we students of
history and related disciplines must do a better job of communicating
the facts of the Amistad to
our own students and the public at large.
The
historical shortcomings in
Amistad are many. For the sake of brevity, I will discuss only a
handful here. Amistad was
supposed to be “an historical legacy of Sierra Leone and the United
States.” However, whereas the American-ness stood out vividly with
emphasis on the virtues of the cause of the abolitionist movement, the
patronizing role of the Christian church vis-à-vis the callousness of
the Spanish and Southern American slavers (very familiar themes) and the
fierce independence of the American courts—seen resisting interference
from even the sitting President (Martin Van Buren—painted during the
1840 campaign as a “Champaign-sipping aristocratic dandy”), the Sierra
Leonean-ness (or African-ness, if you prefer) did not stand out at all.
Even with a fluent Mende tongue (the tongue of Pieh and the majority of
his compatriots), I, like many other Sierra Leoneans who saw the film,
had to mostly rely on the subtitles to understand the almost
incomprehensible Mende that was spoken. [Even the Mende spoken by the
elder, Stephen James Conteh of Los Angeles (best known in Sierra Leone
as American Steve), in the Polaroid commercial is much comprehensible.]
It
is widely known that it was reported of Pieh by a leading American
Newspaper at that time, The New
York Sun, that “had he lived in the days of Greece or Rome, his name
would have been handed down to posterity as one who had practiced those
most sublime of all virtues—disinterested patriotism and unshrinking
courage” (Iglesias, 2010). Yet the cultural milieu/environment that gave
rise to Pieh’s bravery, courage and sense of fair-play to violently
revolt against injustice and cruelty for the first time in the history
of the Trans-Atlantic Slave Trade, and to the outstanding leadership
qualities which Pieh displayed in the face of very difficult
circumstances in leading his colleagues to victory and freedom in a
strange land, was not delved into and exposed to viewers. Granted, the
film was made primarily for the American market and naturally “s/he who
pays the piper calls the tune.” Nonetheless, I am convinced that this
aspect would have been as relevant to the American audience as the
capture of Pieh with a hunting net by his fellow Africans, which, sadly,
is the only African-ness/Sierra Leonean-ness that stands out in the
film. I wonder whether this was an attempt to play into the hands of
those who still (wrongly) believe that all those Africans who stayed
behind were either slave captors or traders or collaborators of the
Trans-Atlantic Slave Trade.
Has
it ever occurred to our dramatists and film-makers that descendants of
ex-slaves in the Diaspora have their counterparts in Africa—those whose
ancestors never experienced life in the dreaded slave castles, nor the
inhuman boat journey across the Atlantic, but yet remained in Africa as
slaves (of the domestic type) whose story too needs to be told? My
little oral history tells me that some chiefs succumbed to the dictates
of Christianity and British colonialism by “adopting” and sending the
sons of their slaves to school instead of their own nuclear sons because
at the time they were not convinced about the values of Western
education. Some of these “adopted” sons turned out to be very successful
personalities who now have a very dignified and proud lineage; some of
them and/or their offspring eventually asserted their acquired rights
and became chiefs. Perhaps, this can provide another meeting point for
Africa and America.
In
Amistad, Lewis Tappan—the
White New York merchant, philanthropist, and prominent abolitionist—is
seriously misrepresented. He is falsely and shamefully shown in the film
as willing to see the Africans sacrificed as martyrs to his cause—along
with a wholly fictional Black abolitionist, played by Morgan Freeman
(who had once confessed on national television that he feels no affinity
with Africa), who says little but appears profound in the film. Tappan
took his faith seriously. His
Amistad Committee (the group that carried out the litigation on
behalf of Pieh and his compatriots) eventually was renamed the American
Missionary Association (AMA). The association later became the United
Church Board for Homeland Ministries, a large social-justice agency
within the United Church of Christ (which itself grew out of New England
Congregationalism). It was also Tappan as a chief benefactor of Oberlin
College that pressured the college’s trustees in 1835 to adopt an
official policy to admit African American students, both males and
females, thereby becoming the first college in the United States to do
so. So much for Spielberg and Allen’s historical enlightenment!
Spielberg and Allen’s search for “seriousness”—taking on the “big issue”
of slavery—ought to have led them to produce something more than a story
about individuals. This matters a great deal because bad history is bad
for a culture. Americans need to know how change has occurred throughout
our history. They need to understand the importance of institutions and
organizations and movements.
We
students of history need not object to dramatic license. The trial of
the Amistad captives, for
example, actually employed two translators of the Mende language,
instead of the one shown in the film. That detail is important. Dramatic
misrepresentation is something else again and, when it occurs, we
students of history should not hide. We must say what we know, support
what is correct, and expose what is false.
The
irony of the Amistad film is
that it did not win a single Academy Award. It will not be remembered
for its “Hollyweiredness” or its historical merit. The Titanic film won
just about every category that year (1998). It would have even won the
Best Black Movie had such a category existed! It is sad that billions of
dollars had been spent on the Titanic film when millions of people
around the world, including the United States, go to bed hungry each
night. Titanic is a film with three hours of dramatic effects about a
ship that took lesser time to sink because its captain did not think it
was good leadership to listen to a lower-class crew member.
When the RMS (Royal Majesty Service) Titanic sank at Sea in the icy
North Atlantic at 11:40 pm on April 14, 1912, leading 1,517 lives to
perish, it had more to do with class stratification, not romantic
interludes, as depicted in the film. A folksong at the time captured the
demise quite well as follows (see, for example, Ashe, 1997):
Oh, they loaded up the boats so very far from shore
but the rich refused to associate with the poor.
So they put the poor below,
where they were the first to go.
It was sad when the Great Ship went down.
Another interesting aspect is that the Soul Food film did not win any
award either. May be it is because the African Americans in that film
were relatively “too affluent,” and did not fit the urban African
American stereotype. It might have won something if it was titled No
Food, depicting African Americans running around hungry and killing each
other. And for special effects, the growling stomachs of these African
Americans would have been just perfect.
For this lecture, I was tasked to examine the life and times of
the Amistad returnees to
Sierra Leone and their impact there. I divide the lecture into seven
sections: (1) the returnees and their reintegration in Sierra Leone; (2)
the true missionary agenda, its accomplishments and challenges; (3)
interactions among Christian missionaries, other religious segments of
the society and how this impacted the
Amistad returnees; (4) the
Islamic factor as it relates to the
Amistad phenomenon; (5) the
unsubstantiated accusation that Sengbe Pieh became a slave trader; (6)
possible motive for the accusation; and (7) conclusion. In exploring
these complex and multifaceted issues, I employ a pluridisciplanary
approach (more on this later) by combining synchronic/thematic
historical, political science/international relations, linguistic and
mathematical applications. Before doing this, however, it makes sense to
briefly highlight the main points of the popular version of the
Amistad story only as a
context for the lecture. To tell the popular version of the story in
detail will be time consuming and unnecessary, since a great deal about
it is available in written and video media.
The Amistad Story in
Brief
In February of 1839, Portuguese slave hunters abducted a large group of
Africans from Sierra Leone and shipped them to Havana, Cuba, a center
for the slave trade. This abduction violated all of the treaties then in
existence. Fifty-three Africans were purchased by two Spanish planters
and put aboard the Cuban schooner
La
Amistad for shipment to a Caribbean plantation. On
July 2, 1839, Pieh led 56 fellow Africans (52 adults and four children),
the captives being transported aboard La Amistad from Havana, in
a revolt against their captors. In the main hold below the deck, the
captives found a rusty file. The captives freed themselves, and they
quickly ascended the stairs to the deck. Armed with machete-like cane
knives, they were successful in gaining control of the ship and demanded
to be returned home. The ship’s navigator, Don Pedro Montez, deceived
them about which direction their course was on and sailed the ship north
along the North American coast to the eastern tip of Long Island, New
York (Abraham, 1979; The US National Archives, 2011).
On August 24, 1839, the
Amistad was seized off Long Island, New York by the USS brig
Washington. The planters were freed and the Africans were
imprisoned in New Haven, Connecticut on charges of murder. Although the
murder charges were dismissed, the Africans continued to be held in
confinement as the focus of the case turned to salvage claims and
property rights. President Martin Van Buren was in favor of extraditing
the Africans to Cuba. Abolitionists in the North, however, opposed
extradition and raised money to defend the Africans. Claims to the
Africans by the planters, the government of Spain, and the captain of
the brig led the case to trial in the Federal District Court in
Connecticut. The court ruled that the case fell within Federal
jurisdiction and that the claims to the Africans as property were not
legitimate because they were illegally held as slaves. The case went to
the Supreme Court in January of 1841, and former President John Quincy
Adams argued the defendants’ case. Adams defended the right of the
accused to fight to regain their freedom. The Supreme Court decided in
favor of the Africans, and 35 of them were returned to their homeland.
The others died at sea or in prison while awaiting trial (Abraham, 1979;
The US National Archives, 2011).
The Returnees and Their Reintegration in Sierra Leone
Not much has been written about the
Amistad returnees and their
reintegration in Sierra Leone. In fact, the two returnees who have
received some attention are Pieh and Sarah Margru Kinson.
As Professor of History and Eminent Scholar and Chair of the
History Department at Virginia State University Arthur Abraham narrates
the story, towards the end of 1841, enough funds had been raised to
charter the ship named Gentleman
to take the 35 Africans to Sierra Leone, accompanied by five
missionaries—two Blacks and three Whites—to start the Mende Mission with
the Amistad Africans, with
the goal of promoting the work of evangelization already successfully
started in Sierra Leone. The ship reached Freetown in mid-January 1842.
Upon their arrival, Pieh learned from Mende recaptives that war had
ravaged the country while he was away and that his hometown, Mani, and
most of his family had been wiped out. The hope of locating the Mende
Mission near Pieh’s hometown was dashed. Anxious to get to their homes
and families, many of the Amistad
returnees left the group, leaving behind only ten adults and the four
children (Abraham, 1979:143).
According to Abraham, to reconstruct what happened to Pieh
between 1842 and the time of his death is difficult. Many conflicting
stories were told. Like a number of the
Amistad returnees who left
Freetown, Pieh continued to return to the mission occasionally. He
informed the missionaries that on leaving Freetown, he had hurried back
to his hometown only to discover its charred ruins. In desperation, he
returned to the mission for some time and then left again. Many
unsubstantiated rumors began circulating about Pieh—“that he had become
a great war chief, or that he had given up Christianity and become a
wealthy slave-trader himself. One of the strongest, which missionaries
inclined to believe, was that he had emigrated to the West Indies”
(Abraham, 1979:143).
What is evident is that Pieh was reported to have died at the mission
station. As Abraham recounts,
The Rev. Alonzo Lewis, who as a boy had watched the capture of the
Amistad and followed the
case, later enquired from Rev. Albert Miller of the Mende Mission what
eventually happened to Sengbe. According to Miller, shortly after
arrival at the Mende Mission in 1878, an old man, unrecognized by
anyone, had stumbled into the station. He had announced himself as
Joseph Sengbe, and said that he had come there to die. Sengbe had
relapsed into paganism, but lived in the vicinity of the mission. He
died in 1879 and was buried in the cemetery near the mission station
(Abraham, 1979:143).
According to Stephanie Reitz, a staff writer for the
Hartford Courant, Pieh’s
family history says that when he returned to Sierra Leone, he went to
search for his missing daughters. He never found them and returned to
his home region to be with his son Kollima, according to Solomon Pieh,
one of the descendants of Kollima’s seventh son, Peter Pieh, who became
a United Methodist Church member. In turn, Peter had nine children,
including the four brothers and one sister who visited the Mystic
Seaport in April 1998 to see the $2.5 million Freedom Schooner
Amistad—a reconstruction of
La Amistad—while being built
(Reitz, 1998).
Sierra Leonean journalist Muckson Sesay says that Pieh is reported to
have settled in Taiama after his ancestors were said to have migrated
from Shenge in the same Moyamba District. Taiama is a small town in the
Kori Chiefdom of Moyamba Distract in the Southern Province along the
Taia River (Sesay, 2006).
As stated earlier, one of the other
Amistad African who has
received some attention is Sarah Margru Kinson, thanks to the work of
Marlene Deahl Merrill, a documentary editor, historian, and affiliate
scholar at Oberlin College. As Merrill tells her story, Margru was one
of the four children who were part of the
Amistad Africans. In her
Mende language, Margru means “black snake.” But in America, Margru
became “the child of many prayers,” as she was the only
Amistad captive to later
return to the United States (Merrill, 2003).
According to Merrill, Margru was born in about 1832 in Bendembu,
Mandingo country, in the Mende region, approximately 100 miles southeast
of Freetown, the capital of Sierra Leone and 40-60 miles from the
Atlantic Ocean. She was one of seven children. Her world abruptly
changed when she was sold to Spanish slave traders to repay a family
debt. Within a brief time, Margru and 52 others from the same area that
were either purchased or kidnapped by the traders were forced to walk
100 miles to the West African coast, where they where herded into the
notorious Dunbomo slave pens on Lomboko Island. Margru was one of the
few children among the hundreds jammed into the slave pens awaiting
slave ships to carry them across the Atlantic (Merrill, 2003).
Merrill states that eventually, Margru and three other
children—two girls, Tehme and Kagne, and a boy, Kali—and an unknown
number of adults were forced aboard the Portuguese slave ship
Tecora, which then sailed to
Cuba. During the three-month voyage, the adult captives were crammed,
naked, into the ship’s hold and chained together in a half-sitting,
half-lying position. The children were allowed a bit of freedom and not
shackled, but they were forced to remain in the hold (Merrill, 2003).
During the Amistad
trial, says Merrill, Tappan became an advocate for Margru and the other
children, and over time he became Margru’s greatest benefactor.
Realizing the trauma the children were facing, Tappan arranged for them
to reside in the home of the jailer, a Colonel Pendleton, and his wife.
While the children enjoyed more comforts and privacy at the home, they
also served as domestic servants, and Merrill believes that they were
most certainly not treated kindly there. After they gained their freedom
and on their way back to Sierra Leone, Margru and the other children did
not remain in the ship’s hold. Instead, they stayed in a large but
crowded stateroom with the five missionaries who had agreed to build a
new mission station for the Mende somewhere in Sierra Leone (Merrill,
2003).
Merrill writes that after seven long weeks at sea, the
Gentleman dropped anchor just
outside Freetown on a very hot and humid day in early January 1842. At
the docks were more than 100 welcoming relatives and friends as the
tender brought the Amistad
Africans close enough to shore for them to wade toward it through
shallow water. Dressed in suits and ties, and carefully rehearsed, the
returnees were singing hymns when suddenly, in a split second, all
decorum vanished replaced by shouts and ecstatic rejoicing. Pieh and his
companions began to throw off their constrictive costumes, exposing
their ethnic markings, and in a matter of seconds were being embraced by
all those who came to welcome them. With the missionaries watching all
this in total disbelief, Merrill suggests that the incident must have
surely informed them that their missionary work was going to be quite
challenging (Merrill, 2003).
According to Merrill, once William Raymond got his missionary
work under way, he began to send personal letters to Lewis Tappan,
frequently with news of Margru. In one of his letters, Lewis wrote that
Margru had been converted to Christianity and that she was becoming like
a daughter to him. In a May 1845 letter, which was subsequently
published in the long-running
Oberlin Evangelist, he reported that he had made Margru his
housekeeper, Charlotte his cook, and that Maria waited upon his wife,
Eliza, and did the housework. He added that Margru was almost
continually singing. In November of 1845, he wrote that another Oberlin
missionary stated that he had never seen any other African girls “equal”
to Margru. Merrill thus opines that Raymond was beginning to think that
Margru ought to be brought to America to be educated so that she can be
qualified to be the head of the female department of the mission school.
Efforts then began in earnest to bring Margru to the United States for
further education. In the summer of 1846, just seven years after the
capture of La Amistad, the
now 14-year-old Margru embarked on her second Trans-Atlantic journey to
the United States. She was once again accompanied by Eliza, who was
close to total mental and physical breakdown, the result of yet another
child’s death and her own demanding labor at the mission (Merrill,
2003).
As Merrill tells it, once she arrived, Margru traveled from the
East Coast to Oberlin, where Tappan had made arrangements for Marianne
Parker Dascomb, principal of the Female Department at the institute, to
oversee her care and education. Mrs. Dascomb first placed Margru in the
home of Professor George Whipple, former principal of Oberlin’s
Preparatory Depatment, and his wife. In late August 1846, Margru began
her formal education. Her teacher, Mrs. Lauretta Branch, kept track of
her development and sent regularly reports of her academic progress to
Tappan. Margru excelled in her studies, and in late October 1847 both
Mrs. Dascomb and Mrs. Branch sent very positive reports about her to
Tappan, extolling the fact that she had gained the love and esteem of
all her schoolmates and her conduct seemed to be regulated by strictly
religious principles (Merrill, 2003).
According to Merrill, Margru had a mind of her own. For example,
Margru had already rejected Tappan’s advice to retain her African name
and be known as “Sarah Margru.” Tappan had argued that it was imperative
for those people who remembered her as Margru to know that she had been
converted and was now being successfully educated in a Chriatian
college. Margru, however, regarded Margru as her heathen name.
Eventually, she compromised and sometimes identified herself as “Sarah
Margru Kinson.” While at school, however, according Mrs. Dascomb, Margru
was always called “Sarah Kisnton” (Merrill, 2003). I would say that
Margro had been successfully Westernized, not so much “having a mind of
her own,” as Merrill suggests.
Merrill posits that Margru’s three years at Oberlin were not
particularly happy ones for her. She complained frequently about the
cold weather and her loneliness. Still, she also had good times there.
She enjoyed the year she shared a room with Lucy Stanton, the daughter
of a Cleveland abolitionist. Antoinette Brown Blackwell, the first woman
ordained as a Protestant minister, also recalled Margru preaching about
Sierra Leone in First Church during an all-women prayer meeting
(Merrill, 2003).
In December of 1847, notes Merrill, Margru wrote a letter to
Professor George Whipple, who had just moved from Oberlin to serve as
secretary of the American Missionary Association. In the letter, she
described her great sorrow about the death from malaria of both Wliiam
Raymond and her sister Amistad
captive and missionary friend, Charlotte. She noted that they were her
dearest friends and that she was beginning to dread receiving letters
from Sierra Leone because they always brought “either sorrow or sadness
in my heart.” She went on to describe her studies, which entailed
“Algebra, history of Rome, and Physiology besides writing and drawing.”
She stated her desire to return to Sierra Leone whenever the need arose,
saying that “Africa is my home. I long to be there. Although I am in
America, yet my heart is there [with] the people I love and the country
I admire.” She thanked Whipple for the dictionary and Bible he sent her.
In the conclusion of her letter, Margru gathered enough courage to ask
Whipple to send her a very special gift—an accordion. She wrote: “I know
you will laugh when I tell what it is. You know that people often say
that African people like music. I do not know what [makes] this [so].”
She ended the letter not with her usual deferential closing of “Your
servant” but with a simple “good-bye, Sarah Margru” (Merrill, 2003), a
clear sign that while she was now a Christian she also cherished her
Africaness.
As reported by Merrill, by the winter of 1848, Margru had
progressed far enough in her preparatory classes to be admitted to the
institute’s Female Department, where she began taking college-level
courses. A year later, in January of 1849, she wrote to Whipple again
confessing that she was happy to go home the following fall and could
not wait for the time to come. She was then studying the history of
England and Comstock’s philosophy, in addition to reading and
composition. In the conclusion of her letter, she noted that she had
learned to play her accordion considerably but did not practice a great
deal because she did not have a music book (Merrill, 2003).
Merrill states that Margru returned to Sierra Leone in November
of 1849 to serve as the “schoolmistress” of the Komende Mission’s new
girls’ school. She made special preparations to dress appropriately for
her new position by buying gloves, hose, shoes, and bonnets. She took
her cherished accordion with her as well. Once again, stories about her
began to appear in missionary reports and periodicals and in the
Oberlin Evangelist. Her
correspondence with Tappan and Whipple also resumed. In September of
1852, Margru married Edward Green, an African who had been educated in
Freetown at British missionary schools. Green had converted to
Christianity shortly before joining Margru at the mission to teach at
the new boys’ school. Margru’s marriage and teaching duties seemed to
have made her happy and productive, as she reported the good news to
Whipple. Margru and Edward were becoming a good team at the mission, so
good that on New Year’s Day in 1856 they headed farther into Sherbro
country to start their own mission school. Then, suddenly, Edward was
dismissed for allegedly intemperance and for seducing girls at the
mission school. Whether Margru left the station with her husband is as
yet unknown, but her name suddenly stopped appearing in mission
publications, and no further letters from her have been found (Merrill,
2003).
Merrill cites Mary Cable who in her book,
Black Odyssey, provided the
needed information about Margru’s later life. Cable claimed that Margru
had remarried after leaving Edward Green and had a son from this later
marriage. The son came to the United States, graduated from Fisk
University, and attended Yale Divinity School, but he died before he
could return to Sierra Leone. Although a young man from Margru’s mission
station fits the description, Merrill says that there is no evidence yet
that he was Margru’s son. Through correspondence with two British
scholars, Merrill received information that a grammar school in Sierra
Leone was named for Margru. Until recently, it was not clear whether the
school still existed. But through a fortuitous meeting with a Sierra
Leonean by the name of John Kamara who is a crew member aboard the
Freedom Schooner Amistad—a
reconstruction of La Amistad,
Merrill learned not only that the school indeed exists but also that it
is located in Bonthe (Merrill, 2003).
The True Missionary Agenda, Its Accomplishments and Challenges
Information on the true agenda of the American Missionary Association
(AMA), its accomplishments and challenges comes from bits and pieces in
Professor C. Magbaily Fyle’s
Historical Dictionary of Sierra Leone (2006) and the article,
“Taiama Pay Tribute to Missionaries” (January 12, 2008), written by
The Exclusive News Paper
journalist Muckson Sesay, and the detailed article titled “Thomas de
Saliere Tucker: Reconciling Industrial and Liberal Arts Education at
Florida’s Normal School for Colored Teachers, 1887-1901” in
The Florida Historical Quarterly
(summer 2010, volume 89, number 1) written by Professor Peter Dumbuya.
According to Fyle, in 1842, the Mende Mission was founded on Sherbro
Island by American missionaries with the
Amistad returnees (2006:xix).
Sesay informs us that ten years after Sengbe Pieh returned to Sierra
Leone in 1842, he took missionaries to Taiama during the Hut Tax War.
The missionaries, according to historical accounts, were killed on the
banks of the Taia River. Nonetheless, the incident did not stop the
missionaries from venturing into Taiama. In 1849, they built the first
primary school, Central School, which became the central school for
primary education in the provinces during those years (Sesay, 2008).
As Fyle tells the story, Raymond Williams was the tenacious
missionary from the United States who was responsible for the survival
of the Mende Mission and the bringing of Western education to the
provinces of Sierra Leone. Raymond’s desire to train as a minister was
initially thwarted because he was perceived to be too close to Black
students. Driven from Amherst College, Raymond went and completed his
education at Oberlin College in Ohio. Upon graduation, he moved to
Canada to live with fugitive slaves for several years. With the
initiative of the Amistad
Committee, Raymond’s desire to go to West Africa was fulfilled. The
committee hired Raymond to teach the
Amistad Africans at
Farmington, Connecticut, and he was among the five missionaries who
accompanied them back to Sierra Leone (Fyle, 2006:160).
Fyle adds that it was Raymond who survived to carry on the Mende
Mission with little support from the
Amistad Committee, which was
severely critical of his methods. Raymond was also operating in a
hostile environment where the Atlantic Slave Trade was still raging and
the slave traders were urging local rulers to turn against Raymond.
Despite all this, he went on to develop the mission and build a church
and mission house and a school with dogged determinism. Using his meager
funds to pay for the manumission of enslaved Africans who then became
servants of the mission, he was able to expand the mission. In 1846, the
Amistad Committee told
Raymond to end the mission and if possible close the school. Regarding
the pupils he had redeemed from slavery as his own children, Raymond’s
reply was that he would rather die with the children than discharge them
(Fyle, 2006:160-1).
From Dumbuya, we learn that Thomas de Saliere Tucker, whose
career in academia exemplified the triumph of liberty and human rights
over slavery in the second half of the 19th Century and the
difficulty often encountered by those who challenged the long-held
notion that equal education could be provided to Blacks and Whites in
separate but equal educational institutions, was born in Sherbro country
in 1844, two years after the Mendi Mission was established there. Tucker
attended the Mende Mission school, came to the United States in 1856 at
the age of 12, graduated from Oberlin College in 1865, received his law
degree from Straight College of New Orleans (Now Dillard University) in
1883, taught school for the freedmen in Kentucky and Louisiana,
practiced law in Florida, and served as the founding president of
Florida’s Normal School for Colored Teachers, now Florida Agricultural
and Mechanical University (FAMU), in Tallahassee, Florida from 1887 to
1901. Tucker’s attempts to model the Normal School in Florida upon
Oberlin College’s curriculum which provided both industrial and liberal
arts education to its student eventually cost him his job (Dumbuya,
2010:26-30).
Dumbuya argues that we cannot understand Tucker’s personal and
professional life and struggle to impart his educational philosophy to
students at the Normal School in Florida without digging deeper into the
influence the Mende Mission and the AMA had on him. According to
Dumbuya, during Tucker’s era, education also came to be perceived as a
human right much sought after by Blacks. The Oberlin College Christian
community and the AMA had declared slavery a sin and forbade their
members from dealing with organizations that supported or did not
renounce it. Being a product of AMA schools, Tucker took with him to the
Normal School of Colored Teachers the belief these mission schools had
instilled in him. This disposition propelled him to push for a liberal
arts education that could complement the agricultural and mechanical
curriculum of Florida’s segregated normal school. For Tucker, liberal
arts education was fundamentally compatible with industrial and
mechanical education, as he believed that the former served as the
building block for the latter (Dumbuya, 2000:29-30).
Other beneficiaries of the AMA schools in Sherbro country who
also pursued further studies in the United States, according to Dumbuya,
were Barnabas Root and Sarah Margru Kinson, one of the female
Amistad returnees (I had
discussed lengthily earlier). Root graduated from Knox College in 1871
and the Chicago Theological Seminary in 1873. He was ordained as a
missionary in 1874. Before returning to Sherbro country in 1875, he
served as pastor of the AMA at the Congressional Mission Church for
freed slaves in Alabama. He died in 1877 before completing a Mende
language dictionary and other books on which he had been working shortly
after returning home. His work prompted the AMA to observe that “As one
of the fruits of the Association’s missions, he (Root) was, despite his
brief life, a witness not only to its usefulness, but an instance of
what native Africans may yet become as preachers and teachers to their
own countrymen” (quoted in Dumbuya, 2000:40).
Interactions among Christian Missionaries, Other Religious Segments of
the Society and How this Impacted the
Amistad Returnees
Information on the interactions among Christian missionaries, other
religious segments of the Sierra Leonean society and how this impacted
the Amistad returnees is
gleaned from bits and pieces in Professor C. Magbaily Fyle’s
Historical Dictionary of Sierra
Leone (2006) and the article, “Taiama Pay Tribute to Missionaries”
(January 12, 2008), written by
The Exclusive News Paper journalist Muckson Sesay.
According to Fyle, Sengbe Pieh is remembered as having been
instrumental in the early spread of Western education to the Mende
(2006:153). Fyle also notes that William Raymond had some relief when in
1846 the American Missionary Association (AMA) was founded, and the
organization took over responsibility of the Mende Mission. Raymond was
recalled in 1847, but he died in Freetown on his way back to the United
States. His tenacity led to the survival of the mission. When he died,
the school, which he had opened a year earlier, had more than 100
students and the mission had a staff of 15 (Fyle, 2006:161).
Sesay recounts that the
Amistad Committee together with the five missionaries arrived in
Sierra Leone under the American Mission Society (AMS) in 1842; they
later sold their properties to the United Brethren in Christ (UBC) in
1946. The UBC continued missionary work in Taiama, Kpangbaya, Bumpeh,
and other towns in the Southern Province. It later merged with the
Evangelical United Brethren (EUB) to form what is known today as the
United Methodist Church (UMC). In 1952, two missionaries, Dr. and Mrs.
Charles Leader, built a church in Taiama called The Cathedral in the
Bush, which replaced a small church called the Calvary United Methodist
Church (CUMC) headed by Bishop B. A. Carew. Dr. and Mrs. Leader also
contributed in many areas in Taiama and other towns throughout their 30
years in Sierra Leone. Rev. P. P. Pieh, a descendant of Sengbe Pieh,
later took over from Bishop Carew and served as Pastor of the CUMC for
several years (Sesay, 2008).
As Sesay continues to tell the story, after Dr. Leader and his
wife returned to the United States, they invited one of the sons of Rev.
P. P. Pieh, Samuel Hinga Pieh, to America for further studies. In 1959,
Samuel came to the United States on the invitation of the Leaders.
Samuel returned to Sierra Leone in 1980, worked in several institutions,
and then started missionary work with the Volunteers in Medical Mission
(VIM) in 1999 during the civil war in Sierra Leone. Unlike his ancestor
Sengbe Pieh, he did not take missionaries to Taiama for fear that they
would be killed as others were during the Hut Tax War. Samuel instead
went with them to Zimbabwe and Mozambique. He is now the co-leader of
the VIM and also the executive director for the Christian Health
Association in Sierra Leone (CHASL). He started bringing missionaries to
Sierra Leone in 2002 and his homeland Taiama has been the center for the
VIMs in Sierra Leone. Every year for the past six years, the VIMs have
been visiting Taiama and have over this period served the medical and
other needs of the residents of the town. A total of 16 VIMs visited the
town in 2008 to continue the work they had embarked upon over the years.
By way of expressing their gratitude to past and present missionaries,
the residents of the town organized a memorial and thanksgiving service
in their honor at the old and historic CUMC. The theme of the service
was “Celebrating the love of God” (Sesay, 2008).
In addition, according to Sesay, past missionaries and indigenous
mission workers like Dr. Charles Leader, Miss S. A. A. Akin, Miss R.
Eaton, Rev. and Mrs. Clara Macrew, and Rev. B. A. Carew, among many
others, were remembered. In his statement, Samuel Pieh recognized
the 16 missionaries present and described how he worked with them
during the past six years while informaing the congregation about their
contributions and what they intend to do in the future. In his
statement, Paramount Chief of Kori Chiefdom Thomas Gbappi III said,
among other things, that the co-leader of the VIMs, Dr. Joseph Geary
(Minister) had been with the people of Taiama for a long time. He said
to him: “You have been a citizen of Taiama and the next time you visit
us we will give you an indigenous name.” Dr. Geary catalogued some of
the development efforts his group had made in the town in particular and
the chiefdom in general. According to him, they are providing the people
with medical supplies and services, and are working to improve child
nutrition. He noted that a community farm had been established in the
chiefdom and that they are refurbishing the CUMC, or The Cathedral in
the Bush. He added that the refurbishment of the church was being done
in collaboration with the Taia River Union (TRU) based in the United
States. The president of the TRU, Dr. Michael Pieh, said that his reason
for going to Taiama was to promote community development in the town and
treat people afflicted by acute medical problems in the chiefdom. Dr.
Michael Pieh is a medical doctor at the Henry Ford System in Detroit,
Michigan. He also serves as the president of Sierra Leoneans Living in
Michigan (SLIM). He stated that in 2008, the organization donated Le. 12
million worth of medical books and five computers to the College of
Medicine and Allied Health Sciences (COMAHS). He concluded by saying
that TRU had over the years offered scholarships to needy students in
the chiefdom. Dancing and cultural performances climaxed the ceremony
(Sesay, 2008).
The Islamic Factor as It Relates to the
Amistad Phenomenon
To get a good perspective of how the Islamic factor relates to the
Amistad phenomenon, it is
instructive to investigate how Islam spread to those parts of Sierra
Leone where the Amistad
returnees and missionaries lived upon their return and the history of
the relationship between Muslims and other religious adherents in the
country. Consequently, this section begins with a discussion of how
Islam spread in the Freetown, Mende and Sherbro areas of Sierra Leone
and then presents the type of relationship that has existed between the
various religious groups.
As British historian Christopher Fyfe recounts, the Fula, who are
dispersed over West Africa, brought Islam to Futa Jalon/Djallon early in
the 18th Century. By the end of that century, their leader,
Ibrahima Suri, who took over from Karamoko Alfa, had made Futa Jallon a
Muslim state (Fyfe, 1962:15). At the same time, to the south, the Mende,
who were non-Muslim, were moving from inland towards the sea in the
direction of the Sherbro estuary. The Mende were still an inland people
by the end of the 18th Century, although they came frequently
to the coast to trade woven cloths for salt. The Vai, who were also
non-Muslim at this time, were established around the mouth of the Moa,
or Gallinas, estuary. They had originally migrated from far inland
(Fyfe, 1962:17-18). It should be added that the Vai developed an
alphabet/script—the Ki-Ka-Ku—of their own.
According to Fyfe, the Fula did not attempt to force Islam
outside of Futa Jallon, but the influence of the faith spread from it.
Traveling singly or in groups, Muslim Mandinka traders from the interior
also spread the tenets of Islam. They often settled in a chief’s town as
his “bookmen.” But they were able to convert only a few adherents to
Islam. Occasionally, a chief would convert to Islam, but his subjects
usually kept their traditional religion. In Vai country, many chiefs
became Muslims, while only a few of their subjects did. Like the Bullom
and the Mende, the majority of the northern peoples also retained their
traditional religions (Fyfe, 1962:18). Thus, by the time the
Amistad returnees reached
Sierra Leone in 1842, Islam was spread widely in Sierra Leone but not
yet deeply.
Sierra Leonean journalist Mohammed Fofana informs us that in the
early 1700s, the area that came to be known as Fula Tong/Town, which
stretches from main Kissy Road overlooking the Queen Elizabeth II Quay
in the east end to the beginning of the west end of Freetown, was
densely populated by pastoral Fula traders who grazed their cows there,
but they did not occupy the land for long. During the 1700s, freed
slaves, recaptives and business people mostly Yoruba from Lagos and
Abeokuta in Nigeria moved into Fula Tong and later spread into Fourah
Bay and Aberdeen. As the newcomers started cutting down trees and
building houses to expand the community, the Fula gradually left because
the land was no longer suitable for raising their cattle. They went
further east to Kissy (Fofana, 2008). So it is not farfetched to suggest
that upon their arrival and two-year stay in Freetown, before moving to
Mende and Sherbro country, the
Amistad returnees would have had contacts with Muslims in the city.
Besides, as William Owens suggested, approximately one-third of the
Amistad Africans were already
Muslims before they were kidnapped and sent into slavery (Owens,
1953:217).
In fact, Amistad
missionary George Thompson documented in his 1852 memoir four encounters
with Muslims in Sierra Leone who he erroneously referred to as
“Mahomedans”—the name is a misnomer because Prophet Muhammad (PBUH)
never claimed to have founded a new religion; he repeatedly preached
that he was simply a messenger who Allah (SWT) had selected to continue
the Abrahamic tradition with revelation via archangel Jibril or Gabriel.
The first encounter was that he had considerable talks with
Muslims upon his arrival in Freetown. They taught him that God made
everything; that Abraham, Moses, Christ and Muhammad (PBUT) were
prophets; that they pray five times a day; and that a person who becomes
a Muslim will be saved (Thompson, 1852:99).
The second encounter Thompson had with Muslims was his debate
with a Muslim king he called Mr. Kalifah who had made a slave of a
carpenter boy taken in war. Thompson argued that Khalifah should give up
the boy because the Bible teaches that he should love his enemies.
Khalifah replied that if he did not keep the boy as a slave, he would
join his people and come back to attack another day. Upon Thompson’s
insistence that he heed the Bible, Khalifah told him that he did not go
by his book. He proceeded to show Thompson a large pile of the Qur’an,
in Arabic script, lying on the table (Thompson, 1852:112).
The third encounter between Thompson and Muslims was when he
tried to cook a fowl for Kalifah and his guests. They insisted that they
should kill the fowl or they would not eat the food. Thompson was
reluctant and went ahead and killed the fowl. Of course, the king and
his guests refused to eat the meal. Again, five Muslims came to him and
he suggested that he would cook for them. They also insisted that fowl
be killed by one of them. When Thompson shot one of the fowls, one of
the men jumped on it and cut its throat. That allowed the men to eat the
meal (Thompson, 1852:113). What Thompson did not know is that Muslims
must pray for forgiveness from an animal before it could be killed for
food.
The fourth encounter Thompson had with Muslims involved his
meeting with a Mandingo Islamic teacher (or
Murry man) who spoke English.
The man gave Thompson a lesson on Islamic philosophy and “treatment of
mechanical arts,” of astronomy, the changes of the moon, figures, weeks,
months, years, etc. The Murry
man acknowledged Thomson’s knowledge of the Bible and called him a
Murry man as well (Thompson,
1852:11207).
In his 1859 memoir, Thompson documented two additional encounters
with Muslims in Sierra Leone. The first of these encounters was that on
June 18 of that year, two Muslims from Bendoo visited the Mende
Mission—one accompanied his friend who needed a medical checkup for a
long suffered “inward infection” that threatened his life. The doctor
questioned the patient and told them that they would have to stay at the
Mission until Monday so that he could better observe the nature and
working of the disease. While they were there, Thompson noticed that the
men were quite literate in both Arabic and English. On Sabbath morning,
Thompson gave them Arabic Testaments about the life of Jesus for them to
read, which they did very well (Thompson, 1859:67).
The second encounter was that on the next day (June 19, 1859), a
Muslim Imam from Barmah also visited the Mission. Thompson gave him an
Arabic Testament which the Imam read and proceeded to explain much more
about Jesus (PBUH) than was written in the Testament (Thompson,
1859:67). It is quite obvious that Thompson did not know that there is
more about Jesus (PBUH) in the Qur’an than in the Bible.
As Thompson confessed, he had hoped that Muslims would be much
easier to convert to Christianity because of their high level of
literacy and discipline, but it proved to be a difficult task for him.
This is because while Muslims were numerous and came from various ethnic
groups, they were united by their knowledge of the Arabic language, the
Qur’an and other Islamic books that they shared (Thompson, 1859:242-3,
244).
Fofana notes that the Yoruba founded a home in Fula Tong and made
it their hegemony with the culture and everything Yoruba, but they did
not change the name. These early Yoruba settlers were mainly Muslim and
made the Fula Tong mosque the epicenter of the community. They named the
many streets which shoot like branches from the main street, Mountain
Cut, by numbers—First Street, Second Street, Third Street, etc. When
they were tired of counting, they gave typical Yoruba names to the
streets such as Haderudeen Street. The architecture of the houses in
Fula Tong still bears the relics of colonialism. These houses were built
with either board or stone with an upper room attached with a window
which is known in local circles as
Kongosa Window (i.e. gossip
window) from where most times the oldest member of the family would
position himself/herself to scrutinize every activity that goes on in
the community. S/he would now and then deliver the greeting
Eh karroh (Yoruba for “How
are you?”) to passers by, mostly when s/he wants to be recognized
(Fofana, 2008).
During those days, states Fofana, a serious conflict erupted when
Christians started persecuting all those they considered to be
non-Christian and burnt down the Fula Tong mosque. The Muslims simply
built another mosque at the same site. But as more people in the area
converted to Islam and attended the mosque, it could no longer
accommodate the worshippers. The mosque was therefore demolished and a
new and much larger one was built at the site in 1882. And in 1887, Dr.
Edward Wilmot Blyden built the Amariah Primary School as he saw the need
for education. The land for the school was donated by the twins Alhassan
and Alusine. The mosque and the school to a large extent came to mold
the life, civilization and education of the Yoruba people in the Fula
Tong community. Former President Ahmed Tejan Kabba, although not a
Yoruba, attended Amariah School. Other notable Sierra Leoneans who
attended the school included the late Dr. Sanusi Mustapha, the late
Justice Nasiru Alghalie, the late Justice Bankole Rashid, and the late
Dr. Aroun Daniya. (To be added to the list of notables were my dad, the
late Ali Kunda Bangura, a construction engineer who supervised the
construction of the major bridges and many important edifices in Bo,
Kono and Tongo Field, a Temne Chief in Tongo Field, and the architect of
the opposition All People’s Congress party to defeat the then ruling
Sierra Leone People’s Party in one of its major strongholds, Kenema East
II constituency, thereby significantly helping
the opposition party to win the 1967 general election and marking
the first time that a ruling party lost an election in Africa South of
the Sahara; and two uncles—the late Abu Bakarr Bangura, who studied in
the Soviet Union and Lebanon and then served in the civil service rising
to the ranks of Deputy and Permanent Secretary in the Ministries of
Education, Social Welfare, Finance, and Information; and the late Imam
Alhaji Pa Bai Hassan Bangura, who was trained in Britain as the first
Sierra Leonean government artist and designed the country’s coat of arms
and other national symbols, and also studied at Al-Azar University in
Cairo, Egypt.) The school was refurbished in 1997 by Plan International
and the entire community still uses its playground to observe the feast
of Eid al-Adha (Fofana,
2008). Eid al-Adha is the
“Festival of Sacrifice” or “Greater
Eid,” an important holiday
celebrated by Muslims worldwide to commemorate the willingness of
Ibrahim (Abraham) to sacrifice his son Isma’il (Ishmael) as an act of
obedience to Allah (SWT), before Allah (SWT) intervened and provided him
with a ram to sacrifice instead.
During this time also, some of the leading Christian clergy were among
the strongest advocates of Muslims, who suffered more oppression from
British colonial administrators. One of these Christian clergy was John
Augustus Abayomi-Cole (1848-July 1943), a talented and versatile Creole
who, in the course of his long career, made his mark as priest,
politician, author, agriculturalist, herbalist, and administrator. He
was born at Ilorin in Nigeria of Sierra Leone stock. He received his
schooling in Sierra Leone, first under Aaron Belisarius
Cosimo Sibthorpe at Hastings, and then at Freetown’s Church
Missionary Society Grammar School. He was later employed by the United
Brethren Church (UBC) at Shenge, in the Bonthe District. While with the
mission he came to the United States where he was ordained priest in the
American Wesleyan Methodist Church. He contributed regularly to the
Sierra Leone Weekly News, a leading West African newspaper, and also
wrote a news summary in Arabic that was published in Saturday Ho,
a magazine-like publication that appeared from 1891 to 1896. He was
known to be sympathetic to Islam, and it was said that his father was an
imam: i.e. the spiritual head of an Islamic community (Wyse, 1979:35).
Fofana further points out that the failure of the government to
recognize Yoruba as one of the national languages was a major factor
that has been killing the language in the country. Even the older Fula
Tong Yoruba can no longer speak the language fluently and the situation
is getting worse with their children. They found themselves claiming
Creole and speaking Krio to properly identify themselves in Sierra
Leone. It is actually interesting and peculiar for these Muslim Yoruba
to claim themselves as Creole with Muslim names like Mohamed Cole,
Mucktaru Pearce, Osman Thomas, Septieu King, etc. The Christian Creole
always think that they are the pure and original Creole, but actually
they and the Muslim Yoruba are all brothers and sisters and came from
the same origin with the same culture (Fofana, 2008).
Fula Tong, continues Fofana, has become cosmopolitan—a home to
many ethnic groups—and most of the properties of the Fula Tong Yoruba
have been sold to other people. With nostalgia, the Fula Tong Yoruba
reveal that they were the ethnic group that started
Ashobie, which has been used
by everybody else for weddings and other celebrations. They introduced
very rich cultural celebrations for naming ceremony—Khomojade,
wedding, and observance of the three-day, seven-day and 40-day after
burial. The unbraided Kaftan
has been their cultural dress for men, and bread and
Fourah the delicacies served
in all of their celebrations. The
Orjeh and Hunting secret
societies were also introduced by these Yoruba. These cultural practices
are being threatened by Western culture, as many of the younger folks
are imbibing more of the latter. What the Fula Tong Yoruba still have is
the Adikali—the head of the
court and the head of the community all in one. The present
Adikali is Dr. Fadlu Deen and
his function is to settle all disputes brought to him ranging from land
dispute, family squabbles to marital problems. He seldom uses the
Tambaleh (traditional drum)
to announce the death of a very important personality or for pray-days
(Fofana, 2008).
Today, there are an estimated 4,050,000 (71% of the total
population) Sierra Leonean Muslims, about 20% are Christians, and the
rest belong to other foreign and indigenous religions (Pew Research
Center, 2009; US Department of State, 2006). In this mix, observes Kate
Warn, one of the most striking things in Sierra Leone is the degree to
which religious tolerance is a deeply held value. Christians and Muslims
live side by side, they celebrate and work together, they intermarry,
and they elect political leaders of all faith traditions (Warn, 2009).
In fact, of the 11 heads of state that have ruled Sierra Leone since its
independence in 1961, ten have been Christians.
According to Sierra Leonean journalist Fayia Amara, students in
Sierra Leone are assured admission to any school, irrespective of the
religion. It is the philosophy that guided the establishment of mission
schools as far back as their beginnings, which brought together children
from diverse backgrounds and train them in an atmosphere of tolerance
and recognition of unity in diversity (Amara, 2010).
Consequently, as the United States Department of State Bureau of
Democracy, Human Rights and Labor observes, the Sierra Leone
constitution provides for freedom of religion and the government
generally respects the right of practice. The government at all levels
seeks to protect this right in full and does not tolerate its abuse,
either by government or private actors. There is no state religion. Many
syncretistic practices exist, and many citizens practice a mixture of
Islam and indigenous religions or Christianity and indigenous religions.
There are a number of foreign missionary groups operating in the
country, including Roman Catholic, Ahmadiyya, Wesleyan, Mormon,
Jehovah’s Witnesses, Orthodox Christians, Jewish, Baha’i, and others.
Holy days celebrated as national holidays include the Muslim
Eid al-Adha, the birth of the
Prophet Muhammad (PBUH), and Eid
al-Fitr (the holiday that marks the end of
Ramadan—the Islamic holy
month of fasting or Sawm);
and the Christian Good Friday, Easter Monday and Christmas holidays (US
Department of State, 2006).
The United States Department of State Bureau of Democracy, Human
Rights and Labor adds that the Sierra Leonean government has no
requirements for recognizing, registering, or regulating religious
groups. The government permits religious instruction in public schools
and students are allowed to choose whether to attend Muslim- or
Christian-oriented classes. Government policy and practice contribute to
the generally free practice of religion. There are no reports of
religious prisoners or detainees in the country. There are no reports of
forced religious conversion, including United States minor citizens who
had been abducted or illegally removed from the United States, or of the
refusal to allow such citizens to be returned to the United States. Some
people commonly use homes and schools as places of worship. Landlords
often permit such activity even if they do not share the same religious
beliefs as their tenants. The generally amicable relationship among
religious groups contributes to religious freedom, and interfaith
marriage is common. The Interreligious Council, comprising of Muslim and
Christian leaders, plays an important role in civil society and actively
participates in efforts to further peace processes in the country and
the Mano subregion (encompassing Côte d’Ivoire, La Guinea, Liberia, and
Sierra Leone). Muslim and Christian leaders also work together with the
National Accountability Group and the Anti-Corruption Commission to
address the problem of corruption in society (US Department of State,
2006).
The Unsubstantiated Accusation that Sengbe Pieh Became a Slave Trader
The best synthesis of earlier works and investigation on the claim that
Pieh engaged in slave trading once he returned to Sierra Leone is by
University Research Professor of History and Chair of the Department of
History at the University of Alabama Howard Jones. The essay, which
appears in The Journal of
American History (December, 2000:923-939), is titled Cinqué of the
Amistad a Slave Trader?
Perpetuating a Myth.” Thus, this work deserves a bit more attention.
Jones begins by stating that for more than five decades, a story
that Pieh engaged in slave trading once he was back in Sierra Leone had
been circulating inside and outside the history profession. The
controversy, Jones notes, became heated when the movie
Amistad was released by
Steven Spielberg in 1997. He was accused of romanticizing a Black figure
that preyed on his own people. Debbie Allen, the movie’s director,
encountered the allegation while on a television talk show; both there
and later, she attributed the story to rumor and innuendo. But that did
not silent the critics. According to Jones, soon afterward, Richard
Grenier made the same charge in the
Washington Times; that was
followed by the most widely known accusation in the
USA Today and on CBS’
Face the Nation from the
noted film critic Michael Medved of the
New York Post, and was
repeated by Martin F. Nolan in the
Boston Globe. Medved, Jones
points out, quoted the two-time Pulitzer Prize-winning Harvard historian
Samuel Eliot Morison, who had written in
The Oxford History of the
American People, a 1965 Book-of-the-Month Club selection, that “The
ironic epilogue [to the Amistad]
story is that Cinqué, once home, set himself up as a slave trader”
(Jones, 2000:923; Morison, 1965:520).
Jones recounts that in writing his book,
Mutiny on the Amistad, during
the early 1980s, he tried to find evidence that would resolve this
pernicious charge against Pieh. The effort, he states, proved fruitless,
as his research in archival holdings in Spain, England, Cuba, Sierra
Leone, and the United States yielded no documentary material that
fleshed out Pieh’s life after he returned to Sierra Leone. Jones could
not find any conclusive evidence on the charge even in the extensive
records of the American Missionary Association (AMA) founded in 1846 due
to the Amistad affair—the
first American missionary group in Africa. He came to realize that
tracing the origin of the charge was almost as fascinating and
historically revealing as providing an answer to it (2000:923-4).
Jones says that he learned in the fall of 1997 that the sole
acknowledged source of Morrison’s charge about Pieh was William A.
Owens’ 1953 novel titled Slave
Mutiny: The Revolt on the Schooner Amistad published by John Day
Publishers in 1953 (for the charge, see Owens, 1953:308). According to
Jones, Owens was a longtime professor of English at Columbia University,
a noted Texas folklorist, and author of many works of historical
fiction. At the close of the novel, Owens asserted that Pieh became an
international slave trader and the evidence existed to support the
allegation. Owens went as far as stating in the “Afterword” of his novel
that he had placed all “typescript copies” of the documents he used in
the “Amistad collection” at the New Haven Colony Historical Society
Library in Connecticut” and that “[the] factual background can be
documented in every important detail” (Jones, 2000:925; Owens,
1953:311). In the hope that the collection might provide documentation
Owens used in claiming that Pieh traded in slaves, Jones was surprised
that no such evidence existed. The executive director of the library for
40 plus years, Robert Egelston, also informed Jones that no such record
existed. After gaining permission from Owens’ daughter, a meticulous
search of his papers in January of 1998 yielded no such evidence either
(quoted by Jones, 2000:924-5).
What Jones found instead was that Owens might have gotten the
idea of Pieh engaging in slave trading from Fred L. Brownlee’s 1946
history of the American Missionary Association titled
New Day Ascending, which
Owens erroneously described as a novel, and also mentioned an actual
work of fiction by Blair Nile titled
East by Day, which says
nothing about the allegation. Pieh, Brownlee wrote, became “chief of his
tribe and, strange to say, a collaborator in supplying slaves for the
American market” (quoted in Jones, 2000:926; Brownlee, 1946:25). But
Brownlee made this serious charge without providing any evidence,
raising questions about his credibility. Jones then realized the
futility of tracking down the exact origins of the story and focused
instead on why the myth had become a virtual fact (Jones, 2000:926).
We learn from Jones that the accusation against Pieh became well
known in the history profession in April of 1969 when C. Vann Woodward
of Yale University declared in his presidential address titled “Clio
with Soul” before the annual meeting of the Organization of American
Historians (OAH) in Philadelphia that Pieh had engaged in slave trading
upon his return to Sierra Leone to make his case that recent emphasis on
Black history in the profession would lead to the portrayal of Black
characters as without blemish. Pressed to provide evidence for his
assertion, Woodard assured the audience that the evidence exists
somewhere in the Fisk University archives. Unable to find any such
evidence, Woodard wrote to Owens requesting the original source of the
charge, but there was no such evidence to be sent (Jones, 2000:926-931).
After additional investigation, in the end, Jones concludes that Pieh
“could never have participated in a practice that had already destroyed
his life. Not only was he a victim of the international slave trade, but
on his return home his wife and three children were missing—perhaps also
its victim” (2000:938). Indeed, the most troublesome aspect of the myth
is that it has been repeated in many media: newspapers, books used by
students in public schools such as those in Chicago, academic journals,
encyclopedias, television and radio shows, and now the Internet.
An interesting piece I found on the Internet while doing research
for this lecture is that by Yale University history graduate student
Joseph Yannielli. When I saw the title, “Cinqué the Slave Trader Some
new evidence on an old controversy” (2009), I was convinced that finally
someone has found the documentary evidence that ties Pieh to slave
trading when he returned to Sierra Leone. But after reading the entire
essay, nowhere did I find Yannielli to have provided evidence to support
the attention-seeking, if not deceptive, title of his piece (more on
this later) and the “classic early episode of
The Simpsons in which the
denizens of Springfield eagerly prepare for their town’s bicentennial
celebration” which he uses to kick off his piece. As Yannielli recounts,
“precocious eight-year-old Lisa Simpson decides to investigate the
exploits of her town’s founding father, Jebediah Springfield. She begins
with the best of intentions, hoping to lionize a local hero. After some
vigorous historical sleuthing, however, she uncovers a terrible truth:
the man universally celebrated as a fearless pioneer of the western
plains was actually a “murderous pirate” named Hans Springfield.”
My interest in Yannielli’s piece was stimulated by the discovery of a
Duke University graduate student, Julia Gaffield, who had found in April
of 2010 what is believed to be the only known printed copy of Haiti’s
Declaration of Independence while doing research for her doctoral
dissertation in the British national Archives in London (Duke Office of
News & Communications, 2010). Unfortunately, Yannielli’s piece left me
disappointed. In fact, he rehashes most of the points made by Jones and,
with his own research findings, came to the same conclusion that there
is no evidence that Pieh engaged in slave trading.
Now to my earlier point about the title of Yannielli’s piece being
attention-seeking, if not deceptive. I must note here that in an
exchange between someone by the name of Trina and Yannielli on the Web
site where his piece appears, Trina states: “I think should add a
question mark to your title. Otherwise, good read (sic)” (Friday,
October 16, 2009, 8:37:27 AM). Yanielli’s reply was the following: “You
make very worthwhile point. I chose not to use a question mark in order
to differentiate my work from the Howard Jones article of nine years
ago, which has a similar title” (Wednesday, October 21, 2009, 2:40:45
PM). But, of course, similarity is not the same as sameness. Jones
article is titled “Cinqué of the
Amistad a Slave Trader? Perpetuating a Myth” and Yanielli’s piece is
titled “Cinqué the Slave Trader Some new evidence on an old
controversy.” Thus, Yannielli putting a question mark on his title would
have not made the two titles the same. Another aspect that raised my
suspicion was Yannielli’s notation of George Thompson as an “ex-convict”
very early in his piece. It was four pages later that he says Thompson
had served “out a twelve-year prison sentence for aiding fugitive
slaves….” An additional aspect that further raised my suspicion was that
every other writer of the story on the
Amistad returnees states that
they were “accompanied by five missionaries—two blacks and three
whites—to start the Mende mission.” But for Yannielli, they were “Three
white missionaries and two black assistants,” as if to minimize the
importance of the Black missionaries.
So, a poignant question here is the following: Why is a title of an
expository prose so important? As linguists Gillian Brown and George
Yule point out, “a title in a piece of expository prose indicates to the
reader how the author intends his (or her) argument to be chunked”
(1983:7). They also note that a title will influence the interpretation
of the text that follows because it serves as a device for
thematization, which is “a discoursal rather than simply a sentential
process.” Thus, “what the speaker or writer puts first will influence
the interpretation of everything that follows” (1983:133). They add that
“this expectation-creating aspect of thematisation, especially in the
form of a title, means that the thematised elements provide not only a
starting point around which what follows in the discourse is structured,
but also a starting point which constrains our interpretation of what
follows” (1983:139).
Curious to know whether evidence might have been found to corroborate
the myth that Pieh engaged in slave trading when he returned to Sierra
Leone since Yannielli’s piece was published in October of 2009,
I conducted E-mail interviews in July of 2011 with some respected Sierra
Leonean scholars and an activist who have been involved in the study of
the Amistad phenomenon in one
way or another. These individuals include Jonathan Peters, Professor
Emeritus of Africana Studies at the University of Maryland Baltimore
County and has been residing in Sierra Leone for many years now; Arthur
Abraham, Professor and Eminent Scholar and Chair of the History
Department at Virginia State University; C. Magbaily Fyle, Professor of
History at Fourah Bay College of the University of Sierra Leone; Nemata
Blyden, Associate Professor of History and International Affairs and
Director of the Africana Studies Program at The George Washington
University in Washington, DC; Alusine Jalloh, Associate Professor of
History and Director of The Africa Program at the University of Texas
Arlington; Peter Dumbuya, Associate Professor of History at Fort Valley
State University in Georgia; Ibrahim Kargbo, Associate Professor of
History at Coppin State University in Maryland; Ibrahim Abdullah, a
historian affiliated with the Department of History and African Studies
at Fourah Bay College of the University of Sierra Leone; and Amadu
Massally, Director of Public Relations of the Bunce Island
Coalition—Sierra Leone who also coordinates activities in Sierra Leone
and the United States for the Mystic Seaport’s
Amistad Freedom Schooner.
None of these individuals stated that s/he has come across any evidence
to validate the charge. Of the responses I received, Peters’ is quite
instructive to the arguments that have been proffered on the issue, and
I therefore include most of his response here almost verbatim for the
sake of accuracy:
Regarding the claim about Sengbe being a slave trader, I used the bio I
have attached but billed Pieh as a trader who spent much of his life
also searching for the answer to a puzzle that his master had given him
and found the answer to it from a scene with his twin grandsons through
his daughter that supposedly died in the raid between Sengbe’s
involuntary departure as a slave in 1839 aboard (or rather below deck)
the Tecora and his return as a free man on the ship, ‘Gentleman,’ the
title of my play (both for the ship and for the gentleman that Sengbe
Pieh had become).
Peters continues:
The argument of Africans’ complicity in the transatlantic slave trade
(they were of course practising indigenous slavery well before and
continuing after the major international slave trade had ended) and you
can argue as much as you want about the difference between slaves and
indentured servants (which Africans were originally before their skin
colour became a convenient avenue for slavery in perpetuity—slavery for
life and for one’s offspring) and that Irish, Slavs (from whom the word
slavery came) and other Europeans were in Old World (Europe) and New
World (the Americas, Australasia). But it is perhaps best to frame the
issue in terms of colonialism and neo-colonialism to get the best
understanding. As Ousmane Sembene shows in his film, ‘Ceddo,’ Arabs
(e.g., Mauritanians) were equally guilty in the traffic purely for
profit as were Europeans. As far as Africans were concerned, their
LEADERS were complicit as have been African dictators that perpetuated
the exploitation of Africans by non-Africans and then stole millions up
to billions from their nations’ coffers.
Peters notes:
Consequently, the talk of reparations to Africans is hardly dampened by
complicity of the erstwhile leadership. Africans have remained poor not
only because their leaders have exploited them but because of the
inequality in trade relations whether it be
bois d’ebene (ebony wood,
that is black slaves/black flesh) or raw materials (bought for pennies,
refined for pennies more and sold for a dollar or more—e.g., cocoa into
chocolate—to preserve the symbolism). Europe granted Africans their
freedom but not the means to preserve it as they moved from exploiting
the labour/freedom of their citizens (slavery) to exploiting their land
(colonialism) to exploiting their toil (unfair trade).
Peters adds:
Please don’t get me wrong. I’m not citing Europeans as the wholesale
villains of the piece. In fact, Europeans have exploited their own kind
as well as so-called people of colour. What made European slavery so bad
was not that they used and abused African males physically and African
females physically and sexually, wicked as that is, but that they pinned
a badge of inferiority on all people of black origin, on account of the
horrendous psychological trauma it has caused scores of millions of
people during and long after the ‘peculiar institution’ had been
‘abolished’ (for many up till this day), a situation that the election
of Barack Obama as president has helped assuage.
Peters concludes:
My own position has been that I wished that Europeans had been truly
superior because it would have meant that slavery would have been
benign. But alas, the record shows that Europeans enslaved themselves by
keeping free men and women as slaves. Not to mention the fact that, if
we grant Africans—i.e. African Americans—the badge of slavery, then
virtually every white American and their descendants from colonial days
until the end of slavery are blood brothers/sisters/cousins, etc. and
descendants of slaves in a who’s who that includes famous and infamous
American presidents from the founding fathers on down. Lots to ponder!
jp
Indeed, the statement by an anonymous reader of Jones’ manuscript for
The Journal of American History
which he quotes at the top of his essay can be modified as follows: “I
think the Journal of American
History (and purveyors of the pernicious myth that Sengbe Pieh
engaged in slave trading when he returned to Sierra Leone) owes (owe)
Cinqué an acquittal (and an apology to all Africans on the continent and
in the Diaspora)” (Jones, 2000:923).
Possible Motive for the Accusation
As I mentioned earlier, Professor Howard Jones suggests that the reason
for the charge against Sengbe Pieh and its persistence hinges on the
desire of some White historians to challenge the portrayal of Black
historical characters as without blemish (Jones, 2000:926). While this
is a good explanation, one must, nevertheless, inquire about what the
possible motive is for this desire. Thus, one must go back to the sole
acknowledged source for Samuel Eliot Morrison’s charge against Pieh that
continued to fan the flames of the myth: i.e. William Owens’
Slave Mutiny: The Revolt on the
Schooner Amistad. It should be noted here that Jones also believes
that Morrison must have also gotten the idea from Fred L. Brownlee’s
1946 historical work on the American Missionary Association (AMA) titled
New Day Ascending based on a
letter Owens wrote proposing a book on the
Amistad. But as Jones himself
acknowledges, Owens made no reference to Brownlee’s work in the
materials used for writing Slave
Mutiny. And as noted earlier, according to Jones, Owens even
erroneously described the book as a novel (Jones, 2000:925). It is
therefore fair and prudent that one sticks with the acknowledged source,
since a potential author can mention a source in a proposal without
necessarily having read it but is aware of its existence and relevance
to his/her topic.
Following the approach of Political Science/International Relations
Professors Joshua Goldstein and Jon Pevehouse, one way a researcher can
decipher the motive behind Owen’s pernicious charge would be to
determine the lens through which he looked at the world in his book.
According to Goldstein and Pevehouse, in order to do so, one must
distinguish three broad theoretical perspectives. The first perspective
is the conservative world
view which “generally values the maintenance of the status quo and
discounts the element of change.” The second perspective is the
liberal world view which
“values reform of the status quo through an evolutionary process of
incremental change.” And the third perspective is the
revolutionary world view
which “values transformation of the status quo through revolutionary and
rapid change” (Goldstein and Pevehouse, 2004:7-9). Thus, in order to
determine which of these world views must have undergirded Owens’
thought process when he was writing his book it is useful to determine
whether linguistic presuppositions of
chaos or those of
order are dominant in the
text. Consequently, I utilize the mathematical concept of Fractal
Dimension and Complexity Theory to determine chaos and aggregate
self-organization in the text.
The major challenge for me was how to transform the linguistic pragmatic
or deep-level meanings in Owens’ literary text for mathematical
modeling. This called for the utilization of a pluridisciplianry
approach that helped me to mix linguistics and mathematical approaches:
more precisely, Linguistic Presupposition and Fractal Methodology.
Before analyzing the results generated after the MATLAB computer runs,
it makes sense to begin with brief descriptions of Pluridiciplinary
Methodology, Linguistic Presupposition as the unit of analysis, and
Fractal Methodology.
Pluridiciplinary Methodology
Pluridisciplinary Methodology can be generally defined as the systematic
utilization of two or more disciplines or branches of learning to
investigate a phenomenon, thereby in turn contributing to those
disciplines. Noting that Cheikh Anta Diop had called on African-centered
researchers to become pluridisciplinarians, Professor Clyde Ahmed
Winters (1998) states that a pluridisciplinary specialist is a person
who is qualified to employ more than one discipline—for example,
history, linguistics, etc.—when researching aspects of African history
and Africology in general.
The history of the Pluridisciplinary Methodology can be traced back to
the mid-1950s with the works of Cheikh Anta Diop and Jean Vercoutter.
The approach was concretized by Alain Anselin and Clyde Ahmad Winters in
the 1980s and 1990s (Winters, 1998).
Linguistic Presupposition as the Unit of Analysis
Linguistic presupposition can be defined as an implicit assumption about
the world or background belief upon which the truth of a statement
hinges. The linguistic presuppositions for this study are drawn out of
the writer’s/Owens’ topics
in the text examined. The writer’s
topics here are the a priori features, such as the clear and
unquestionable change of subject focus, for defining types of linguistic
presuppositions found in the text examined.
While there are many other formulations of ‘topic’ from which to chose,
the writer’s topics are
employed for this essay because it is the writer/Owens who had topics,
not the text.
These include sentential topics, discourse topics, presuppositional
pools, relevance and speaking topically, topic boundary markers,
paragraphs, paratones, representation of discourse content,
position-based discourse content, and story.
Thus, the notion of ‘topic’ in the present essay is considered as one
related to representations of discourse content.
In
choosing the writer’s topic as the recording unit, the ease of
identifying topics and correspondence between them and the content
categories were seriously considered. Guiding this choice was the
awareness that if the recording unit is too small, such as a word, each
case will be unlikely to possess any of the content categories.
Furthermore, small recording units may obscure the context in which a
particular content appears. On the other hand, a large recording unit,
such as a stanza, will make it difficult to isolate the single category
of a content that it possesses. For the current essay, two methods were
appropriate. First, there is the clear and uncontestable change of
subject focus. Second, topicalization was found to have been used to
introduce new characters, ideas, events, objects, etc.
Finally, in order to ascertain the reliability of the coding unit
employed for the essay, attempts were made to show inter-coder
reliability: that is, two or more analysts, using the same procedures
and definitions, agree on the content categories applied to the material
analyzed. Two individuals—Malcolm Finney, Professor and Chair of
Linguistics at California State University, Long Beach; and Elizabeth
Sawyerr, Professor of Language Studies at Howard University in
Washington, DC—who had extensive training in discourse analysis and
especially topic identification, were given copies of the text studied
to identify what they perceived as topics, or more specifically, where
one topic ends and another begins. Although there were no differences
between the two individuals and I, the identified topics and the texts
were also given to a linguist—Roger Shuy, Emeritus Professor and Chair
of Linguistics at Georgetown University in Washington, DC and now
resides in Missoula, Montana—who has done a great deal of work on topic
analysis for comments and suggestions. This approach was quite useful
for increasing my confidence that the meaning of the content is not
heavily dependent on my analysis alone.
After identifying the presuppositions in the text studied in terms of
the topics identified, these propositions were placed into two
categories (order versus
chaos) based on the
bottom-up processing
approach common in linguistic analysis for further examination.
This involved working out the meanings of the propositions already
processed and building up composite meanings for them.
Because the text examined is a representation of discourse in text, the
level of analysis is naturally the written text.
Text is used here as a
technical term—in Gillian Brown and George Yule’s conceptualization,
“the verbal record of a communicative act” (1983:6).
In
order to ascertain the presuppositions in the text examined, the test
known as Constancy under
Negation Rule was employed. This test is important because,
following Gottlob Frege (1892/1952) and Peter Strawson (1952),
presuppositions are preserved in negative statements or sentences. A
researcher can therefore simply take a sentence, negate it, and see what
inferences survive: that is, are shared by both positive and negative
forms of the sentence. But because, as Stephen Levinson (1983:185) is
quite correct in pointing out, “constancy under negation is not in fact
a rich enough definition to pick out a coherent, homogenous set of
inferences,” the tests for presuppositional defeasibility (the notion
that presuppositions are liable to evaporate in certain contexts) and
the projection problem of presuppositions (i.e. the behavior of
presuppositions in complex sentences) were also employed.
Consequently, in order not to necessarily presume the conclusions to be
drawn, cues to the intent of the author of the text examined are
‘deconstructed.’ How, then, are these cues mapped out for the present
essay? According to Herbert Paul Grice’s (1975) characterization of
meaningnn or non-natural meaning (which is equivalent to the
notion of intentional communication), intent is achieved or satisfied by
being recognized. A sender’s communicative intent becomes mutual
knowledge to sender and receiver: that is, S knows that H knows that S
knows that H knows (and so ad infinitum) that S has this particular
intention. So following Roger Shuy (1982), it is necessary to begin by
asking “What did the writers (here, Owens) do?” Thus, it is clearly
necessary to look at specific topics developed by the author of the text
analyzed. This is particularly true because, according to Wallace Chafe
(1972) and Carol Kates (1980), the structure of intentions can neither
be defined by the grammatical relations of the terms, nor by the
semantic structure of a text. Therefore, mapping out the cues to the
intent of the author contained in the text analyzed called for: (a)
identifying communicative functions, (b) using general socio-cultural
knowledge, and (c) determining the inferences made.
Fractal Methodology
It is only logical to begin any discussion of Fractal Methodology with a
definition of what a fractal is. As I state in my book,
Chaos Theory and African Fractals
(Bangura, 2000:6), the concept of fractal remains inexplicably defined.
This shortcoming is pointed out by Philip Davis as follows, albeit he
himself does not provide an explicit definition: “I consulted three
books on fractals. Though there were pictures, there was no definition”
(1993:22). The following is a small sample of the various ways the
concept of fractal has been described as provided by Lynn Steen:
The concept of fractional dimension, or fractals, was developed in order
to describe the shapes of natural objects….An interesting property of
fractal objects is that as we magnify a figure, more details appear but
the basic shape of the figure remains intact (1988:409).
In addition, according to Steen,
The word fractal—coined by (Benoit B.) Mandelbrot—is related to the
Latin verb frangere, which
means “to break.” The ancient Romans who used
frangere may have been
thinking about the breaking of a stone, since the adjective derived from
this action combines the two most obvious properties of broken
stones—irregularity and fragmentation. The adjectival form is
fractus, which Mandelbrot
says led him to fractal (1988:420).
Furthermore, Steen points out that “Fractal dimension (is) a measurement
of the jaggedness of an object” (1988:413). And as Hargittai and
Pickover (1992) quote Keith Weeks,
[J. E.] Hutchinson laid the foundations of a certain concept of
self-similarity, the basic notion being that of the object made up of a
number of smaller images of the original object, and so on ad infinitum,
typically resulting in detail at all levels of magnification, a trait
commonly associated with objects referred to as
fractals (1992:107).
From the preceding descriptions, I venture to offer a general definition
of a fractal as a
self-similar pattern: that is, a pattern that repeats itself on an ever
diminishing scale.
As for Fractal Methodology, more popularly referred to as Fractal
Analysis, itself, with its applications in the social sciences, Clifford
Brown and Larry Liebovitch in their recent work appropriately titled
Fractal Analysis (2010)
published as part of the Sage Publications Quantitative Analysis of the
Social Sciences series have a succinct exposé on the subject. The rest
of the discussion in this subsection is based on their work.
Brown and Liebovitch begin by stating that several early
applications of fractal mathematics emerged in the social sciences.
These works include Vilfredo Pareto’s 1897 study of the distribution of
wealth; Lewis Fry Richardson’s 1948 and 1960, but published
posthumously, study of the intensity of wars; and George Zipf’s 1949
studies of the distributions of word frequencies and city sizes. Brown
and Liebovitch argue that while these ideas were known by experts in the
field, they were isolated, quirky concepts until Mandelbrot developed
the unifying idea of fractals in the 1970s and 1980s. Since that time,
however, in spite of the fact that Zipf and Pareto distributions
represent fractal distribution, social scientists have lagged behind the
physical and natural sciences in utilizing fractal mathematics in their
works (Brown and Liebovitch, 2010:ix).
Brown and Liebovitch observe, however, that in recent years, the
application of fractal mathematics by social scientists in their studies
has grown exponentially. Their variety, they note, has expanded as
rapidly as their numbers. They cite the examples that fractal analysis
had been employed by criminologists to investigate the timing of calls
for assistance to police, by sociologists to investigate gender
divisions in the labor force, and by actuaries to study disasters. The
surprising range of fractal phenomena in the social sciences led Brown
and Liebovitch to call for a comprehensive survey that would investigate
the common threads that unite them, thereby leading to a broader
understanding of their causes and occurrences (Brown and Liebovitch,
2010:ix).
According to Brown and Liebovitch, if a researcher has rough
data, strongly nonlinear data, irregular data, or data that display
complex patterns that seem to defy conventional statistical analysis,
then fractal analysis might be the solution to the researcher. They
posit that the non-normal and irregularity of so much of social science
data apparently are the result of the complexity of social dynamics.
Thus, for them, fractal analysis offers an approach for analyzing many
of these awkward data sets. And more important, they note, the method
also offers a rational and parsimonious explanation for the irregularity
and complexity of such data. They insist that the data are not behaving
badly; instead, they are simply obeying unexpected but common rules of
which we are unaware (Brown and Liebovitch, 2010:1).
Brown and Liebovitch go on to conceptualize fractals as
“sets defined by the three
related principles of
self-similarity, scale
invariance, and power law
relations.” They postulate that when these principles converge,
fractal patterns form. They note that the statistic called
fractal dimension is employed
to capture the essential characteristics of fractal patterns. They add
that much empirical work in fractal analysis focuses on two tasks: (1)
showing that fractal characteristics are present in a particular data
set and (2) estimating the fractal dimension of the data set. They also
mention that there are various techniques for implementing these two
tasks (Brown and Liebovitch, 2010:2), the discussion of which is beyond
the scope of the present essay. Nonetheless, it is necessary to provide
brief definitions of the preceding five italicized concepts based on
Brown and Liebovitch’s work for the sake of clarity. The significant
fact about sets is that
almost all data sets can be fractal: that is, points, lines, surfaces,
multidimensional data, and time series. Since fractals occur in
different types of sets, various procedures are required to identify and
analyze them, with the approach hinging upon the kind of data (Brown and
Liebovitch, 2010:2-3).
Brown and Liebovitch define
self-similarity as a characteristic of an object when it is composed
of smaller copies of itself, and each of the smaller copies in turn are
made up of yet smaller copies of the whole, and so on,
ad infinitum. The word
similar connotes a
geometrical meaning: that is, objects that have the same form but may be
different in size (Brown and Liebovitch, 2010:3).
Scale invariance
for Brown and Liebovitch refers to a thing that has the same
characteristics at every scale of observation. Thus, when one zooms on a
fractal object, observing it at ever-increasing scale of magnification,
it will still look the same (Brown and Liebovitvh, 2010:5).
According to Brown and Liebovitch,
power law relations denote
the rule that for a set to achieve the complexity and irregularity of a
fractal, the number of self-similar pieces must be related to their size
by a power law. Power law distributions are scale invariant because the
shape of the function is the same at every magnitude (Brown and
Liebovitch, 2010:5).
Finally, Brown and Liebovitch characterize
fractal dimension as the
invariant parameter that characterizes a fractal set. An analyst uses
the fractal dimension to describe the distribution of the data. It is
akin to having a “normal” set of data and using the mean and variance to
describe the location and dispersion of the data (Brown and Liebovitch,
2010:15).
Data Analysis
Before engaging in the fractal analysis of the data generated from
Owens’ text, I will begin with a description of the data and a
justification for the Box-Counting Method employed to analyze them.
Before computing the univariate statistics to do the descriptive
analysis of the data teased out of Owens’ text, a two-dimensional ad hoc
classificatory system was developed within which the data were
categorized. The first of these categories entails the presuppositions
of order: that is,
presuppositions that suggest a condition of logical or comprehensible
arrangement among the separate elements of a group. This type of
presupposition is triggered by presuppositional discourse stretches such
as “They waited for President Van Buren in the White House and flooded
his office with demands for capture of the pirate blacks,” “Patrol
vessels put out from points all along the coast,” and “Around the world
friends of black men were retelling the story of Cinqué’s journey from
freedom to freedom, a journey beginning and ending in the village of
Mani, in the land of the Mendis, on the West Coast of Africa….” The
second category encompasses presuppositions of
chaos: that is,
presuppositions that suggest a condition or place of great disorder or
confusion. This type of presupposition is triggered by presuppositional
discourse stretches such as “For days a mysterious long low black
schooner hovered on the New Jersey and Long Island coast,” “Her lines
were sharp, her bearing proud, but time and storm had left their
marks—her topsail gone, her sails blown to shreds, her copper bottom
fouled with barnacles and seaweed,” and “Sometimes she flew a Spanish
flag, more often none at all.”
As shown in Table 1, a total of 3,380 topic entries were teased out of
Owens’ 23 chapters. Of these, I categorized 1,051 or 31 percent as
presuppositions of order and
2,329 or 69 percent as presuppositions of
chaos. The mean for the
order category is 45.70
presuppositions, with a standard deviation of 20.77 presuppositions; the
mean for the chaos category
is 101.26 presuppositions, with a standard deviation of 40.09. The range
for the order category is 102
presuppositions and that for the
chaos category is 145 presuppositions. This means that there are
significantly more topic entries for presuppositions of
chaos than there are of those
for order. Moreover there are
significant variations among the chapters for each category in terms of
topic entries.
Table 1: Univariate Statistics by Types of Presuppositions in Owens’
Text
As I stated earlier, the Box-Counting Method was employed to provide a
fractal analysis of the data. The question that emerges then is why this
technique was used. As Brown and Liebovitch observe, the Box-Counting
Method is probably the best known and most frequently used technique to
analyze two-dimensional data sets. It is a versatile technique in that,
unlike the divider technique, it can be utilized with any kind of set
embedded in two dimensions. Its popularity is also enhanced because it
can also be easily generalized to other embedded dimensions. Like other
fractal analytical techniques, the Box-Counting Method is designed to
allow an analyst to simultaneously determine whether a pattern is
fractal and, if it is, to estimate its fractal dimension (Brown and
Liebovitch, 2010:48).
The following is the procedure for implementing a Box-Counting
Method, according to Brown and Liebovitch: An analyst begins by
overlaying a grid of squares on the object to be measured, and then
counts the number of boxes that contain part of the design; that is,
intercept at least one point of the set. The number of squares
N required to cover the set
will hinge upon the linear size of the squares,
r, so
N is a function of
r, which can be written as
N(r).
After that, the analyst can reduce the mesh size of the grid and again
count the number of boxes occupied by at least some part of the object.
Since the boxes are smaller, the number of occupied boxes will, of
course, increase. Nonetheless, if the pattern is fractal, then the
number of occupied boxes will rise dramatically, more so than from a
linear change in the size of the boxes alone. Akin to the Divider
Method, this occurs because as the analyst zooms in on or magnifies a
fractal pattern, more detail is reveled. As the size of the boxes is
shrunk, the figure is zoomed on to capture more detail. So the analyst
must repeatedly reduce the size of the boxes in the grid overlaid on the
pattern, each time recording two variables,
N and
r. Next the analyst will plot
the log of N(r)
against the log of r. If the
relation between the two is linear, it is a power law, and thus the
pattern is fractal because the self-similarity of a fractal produces
more much detail as it is measured at ever finer scales. If the slope of
the best-fit line on the plot is named
b, then the fractal dimension
is D = -b.
As can be seen from Figure 1, a log-log plot (or log-log graph)
was employed to represent the observed units described by the
two-dimensional variable encompassing
order (y) and chaos (x)
as a scatter plot/graph. The two axes display the logarithm of values of
the two dimensions, not the values themselves. If the relationship
between x and y is described by a power law,
y = xa;
then the (x, y) points on the log-log plot form a line with the slope
equal to a. Log-log plots are widely used to represent data that are
expected to be scale-invariant or fractal because, as stated before,
fractal data usually follow a power law.
A logarithm is an exponent. It is illustrated in the following
definition:
For b > 0,
b ≠ 1 and for
x > 0,
y = logbx if and
only if by =
x
Thus, since a logarithm is an exponent, it is easy to use exponent laws
to establish mathematical generalizations.
Figure 1: Log-log Plot Order vs. Chaos in Owens’ Text
Binary Regression: y =
0.555 + 0.982; R2 = 0.686; p = 0.0001
Figure 1 illustrates the fractal dimension of the
two-dimensionality of the variable for Owens’ text. The statistics
reveal that the relationship between the two dimensions is statistically
significant at the 0.01 level. In sum, Owens’ text moves from periodic
fractal stretching to pure disorder. In essence, Owens’ world view
reflected a conservative
impulse that saw the revolt on the
Amistad as a
revolutionary act that roused
the status quo. Hence, for Owens, the best way to demonize the lionized
radical Sengbe Pieh was to
fabricate a story of implicating him in engaging in the same inhumane
trade against which he fought.
Out of curiosity, I examined Borwnlee’s work as well. He discusses the
Amistad affair on only 13
pages in the first three chapters of his 310–page book. The entire first
chapter, entailing seven pages (1-7), deals with the issue. In chapter
two, the affair is discussed on only two pages (8 & 21). In chapter
three, where the charge against Pieh having engaged in slave trading is
made, the affair is discussed on four pages (22-25).
As shown in Table 2, a total of 61 topic entries on the
Amistad affair were teased
out of Brownlee’s book. Of these, I categorized 23 or 38 percent as
presuppositions of order and
38 or 62 percent as presuppositions of
chaos. The mean for the
order category is 7.67
presuppositions, with a standard deviation of 8.03 presuppositions; the
mean for the chaos category
is 12.67 presuppositions, with a standard deviation of 10.97. The range
for the order category is 12
presuppositions and that for the
chaos category is 21 presuppositions. This means that, just like in
Owens’ text, there are significantly more topic entries for
presuppositions of chaos than
there are of those for order
in Brownlee’s text. Similarly, there are significant variations among
the chapters for each category in terms of topic entries.
Table 2: Univariate Statistics by Types of Presuppositions in Brownlee’s
Text
Figure 2 illustrates the fractal dimension of the two-dimensionality of
the variable for Brownlee’s text. The statistics reveal that the
relationship between the two dimensions is reasonably strong, albeit not
statistically significant at the 0.05 level. Nonetheless, just like
Owens’ text, Brownlee’s text also moves from periodic fractal stretching
to pure disorder. In essence, like that of Owens, Brownlee’s world view
also reflected a conservative
impulse that saw the revolt on the
Amistad as a
revolutionary act that
threatened the status quo. Hence, before Owens, Brownlee had sought to
demonize Sengbe Pieh by fabricating a story of implicating him in
engaging in an inhumane trade against which he fought.
Figure 2: Log-log Plot Chaos vs. Order in Brownlee’s Text
Binary Regression: y =
1.784 + 0.358; R2 = 0.961; p = 0.126
Conclusion
What Professor Arthur Abraham opined about the legacy of the
Amistad affair more than
three decades ago is still poignant. According to him, the affair had
far-reaching consequences. By the time the case ended, it had so
embittered feelings between the North and the slave-holding South that
it must be included among the events that led to the breakout of the
American civil war in 1860. While the court’s decision itself was not an
attack on slavery, it did help to unite and galvanize the abolitionist
movement. In addition, the missionary work triggered by the
Amistad affair led to the
founding of the American Missionary Association (AMA) in 1846 which took
over the Mende Mission. The AMA turned out to be the largest and most
highly organized abolitionist movement in the United States before the
Civil War erupted. The Association established hundreds of anti-slavery
churches and schools in the North and the border states of the South,
with the main purpose of educating liberated Blacks. The effort gave
birth to such important institutions as Hampton Institute and Atlanta,
Howard, Fisk, and Dillard Universities at which countless people of
African descent received their higher education. Under Pieh’s
leadership, as Abraham quotes the
New Orleans Weekly, “the determination of fifty-three Africans not
to accept the enforced slavery launched a movement that resulted in the
creation of a tremendous network of institutions in the south that
educated the leadership for the modern-day civil rights movement”
(Abraham, 1979:143-4).
The Amistad affair,
adds Abraham, also led to the beginning of American evangelization in
Africa and other parts of the world. In Sierra Leone, the AMA brought
Western education to the Mende before the British colonial government
introduced it. The AMA also founded some important schools such as the
Hartford School for Girls in Moyamba and the Albert Academy in Freetown,
both still popular to this day. All these developments owe their origin
to Sengbe Pieh and his compatriots and their act of rebellion on board
La Amistad (Abraham,
1979:144).
It is therefore unfortunate that some of Sengbe Pieh’s White brothers,
in their desire to sell books and/or make a name for themselves in
academia, concocted or fanned the flame of the pernicious myth that Pieh
engaged in slave trading once he returned to Sierra Leone. Pieh would
have had no such contempt for his White brother because, after all, it
was some of his White brothers and sisters that rallied to his cause in
the United States and for which he was grateful. In Lewis Tappan,
William Owens tells us, Sengbe Pieh “found a friend, a white man he
could trust. Tappan held out his hand. “Massa,” Cinqué said simply, and
took his hand” (Owens, 1953:155). The second time Pieh saw Tappan, “he
rose and took his hand in the American manner” (Owens, 1953:174).
Even after Pieh left the Mende Mission, when he realized that it
was time to die, he returned there, announced himself as Joseph Sengbe,
not Sengbe Pieh or Joseph Cinqué, and requested a Christian funeral. And
as a student of the Abrahamic connections, I will end my lecture on the
Judaic, Christian and Islamic significance of the first name with which
Sengbe Pieh chose to die—i.e. Joseph.
In Judaism, Christianity and Islam, we learn about Joseph (son of
Jacob), Yosef in Hebrew, and
Yūsuf in Arabic, as an
important character who connects the story of Abraham (Ibrahim
in Arabic), Isaac (Ishaq in
Arabic) and Jacob (Ya’qub in
Arabic) in Canaan to the subsequent story of the liberation of the
Israelites from slavery in Egypt. The Book of Genesis tells how Joseph
was the 11th of Jacob’s 12 sons and Rachel’s firstborn. He
was sold into slavery by his jealous brothers, yet rose to become the
second most powerful man in Egypt next to Pharaoh. When famine struck
the land, Joseph was able to bring the sons of Israel to Egypt where
they were settled in the land of Goshen. In the Qur’an, the 12th
sura (meaning “verse” in
Arabic) is among the longest, and is the only one with a single person
or subject as its theme.
In the Gospels, there are two other characters with the name
Joseph. One is Saint Joseph who was the husband of Virgin Mary. The
other is Joseph of Arimathea who donated his own prepared tomb for the
burial of Jesus after Jesus’ Crucifixion.
Indeed, 19th Century African American writer and activist
James Monroe Whitfield’s 1853 poem dedicated to Sengbe Pieh titled
To Cinqué is quite fitting
for the Amistad hero and his
compatriots (African American Registry, n.d.):
All hail! thou truly noble chief,
Who scorned to live a cowering slave;
Thy name shall stand on history’s leaf,
Amid the mighty and the brave:
Thy name shall shine a glorious light
To other brave and fearless men,
Who, like thyself, in freedom’s might,
Shall beard the robber in his den.
Thy name shall stand on history’s page,
And brighter, brighter, brighter grow,
Throughout all time through every age,
Till bosoms cease to feel or know
“Created worthy, or human woe.”
Thy name shall nerve the patriot’s hand
When, mid the battle’s deadly strife,
The glittering bayonet and brand
Are crimsoned with the stream of life.
When the dark clouds of battle roll,
And slaughter reigns without control,
Thy name shall then fresh life impart,
And fire anew each freeman’s heart.
Though wealth and power their force combine
To crush thy noble spirit down,
There is above a power divine
Shall bear thee up against their frown.
Veritably, there is above a power so Divine that will bear us up against
those who seek to exploit and dehumanize their fellow humans.
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