I read this book for the Back
to the Classics Challenge 2016.
Born a slave, Frederick Douglass (1818 - 1895) escaped in
1838 and became a key figure in the Abolitionist movement. This book was his third
memoir, written in 1881 and revised in 1892. I have no reservation recommending
this book to readers with an interest in antebellum America, race-based chattel
slavery, the Abolitionist movement, post- Civil War reform in the US, or
memoirs of great Americans.
In the first third of the book, Douglass
paints a picture of the absence of law, of civil society, in slave states: “That plantation is a little nation of its
own, having its own language, its own rules, regulations and customs. The laws
and institutions of the state, apparently touched it nowhere.”
Slavery also had a bad effect on slave owners and their families:
The poor slave, on his hard pine plank, scantily covered with his thin
blanket, slept more soundly than the feverish voluptuary who reclined upon his
downy pillow. Food to the indolent is poison, not sustenance. Lurking beneath
the rich and tempting viands were invisible spirits of evil, which filled the
self-deluded gormandizer with aches and pains, passions uncontrollable, fierce
tempers, dyspepsia, rheumatism, lumbago, and gout, and of these the Lloyds had
a full share.
Douglass takes jabs at the work ethic
that was undermined by slavery. Farms are shabby, workmanship shoddy. For all
the talk of refinement and genteel manners, slave-holders and the hired help are careless, stupid,
ill-informed, angry, short-tempered, lacking in foresight, paranoid, and never
seeing anybody outside a narrow world of uncouth stressed
relatives and impatient vulgar cronies.
Not to mention the whole system has to be propped up with an army of thugs such
as overseers and hired kidnappers. Ashley Wilkes - my red Indian ass.
The great thing about Douglass is that
he names names. The book is filled with telling anecdotes like this one:
No stronger contrast
between two men could well be presented than the one exhibited on this day
between President Lincoln and Vice-President Johnson. Mr. Lincoln was like one
who was treading the hard and thorny path of duty and self-denial; Mr. Johnson was
like one just from a drunken debauch. The face of the one was full of manly
humility, although at the topmost height of power and pride; that of the other
was full of pomp and swaggering vanity. The fact was, though it was yet early
in the day, Mr. Johnson was drunk.
After the Civil War, the Republican party turned its back on ideals and black people and became the party of money that it is in our
present day. The Republicans' walking away from Reconstruction and leaving
blacks defenseless against the former slave-owning, slave-beating, slave-driving, slave-catching class filled
Douglass with sadness:
Clinging in hope to the Republican party,
thinking it would cease its backsliding and resume its old character as the
party of progress, justice and freedom, I regretted its defeat and shared in
some measure the painful apprehension and distress felt by my people at the
South from the return to power of the old Democratic and slavery party. To many
of them it seemed that they were left naked to their enemies; in fact, lost;
that Mr. Cleveland's election meant the revival of the slave power, and that
they would now be again reduced to slavery and the lash. The misery brought to
the South by this widespread alarm can hardly be described or measured. The
wail of despair from the late bondsmen was for a time deep, bitter and
heartrending. Illiterate and unable to learn to read or to learn of any limit
to the power of the party now in the ascendant, their fears were unmitigated
and intolerable, and their outcry of alarm was like the cry of dismay uttered
by an army when its champion has fallen and no one appears to take his place.
It was well for the poor people in this condition that Mr. Cleveland himself
kindly sent word South to allay their fears and to remove their agony. In this
trepidation of the unlettered negro something is apparent aside from his
ignorance. If he knew nothing of letters, he knew something of events and of
the history of parties to them. He knew that the Republican party was the party
hated by the old master class, and that the Democratic party was the party
beloved of the old master class.
Anyway, this review grows too long. In his day, Douglass
critics argued if he was a better orator or a better writer. This book shows
his powerful writing style. I hope these long quotations give a sense of that.
PS: I moderate comments to this blog. If I get any trash, nonsense, or bilge I will, without remorse, trash them.
I promise.
PS: I moderate comments to this blog. If I get any trash, nonsense, or bilge I will, without remorse, trash them.
I promise.
I just posted my review of Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass to the Back to the Classics Challenge, and saw that you had read about him also. I wish I had known about this book before picking up the one I read - Narrative only covers the time til he's 27-28, and I would have liked to have read about the rest of his life. I'll just have to add this one to my TBR list. But what was in Narrative showed him to be quite articulate.
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