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Voice recordings of people who were enslaved offer incredible first-person accounts of U.S. history

"The results of these digitally enhanced recordings are arresting, almost unbelievable. The idea of hearing the voices of actual slaves from the plantations of the Old South is as powerful—as startling, really—as if you could hear Abraham Lincoln or Robert E. Lee speak." - Ted Koppel

Library of Congress

Some history is not as old as we think.

When we think about the era of American slavery, many of us tend to think of it as the far distant past. While slavery doesn't exist as a formal institution today, modern slavery endures at a systemic level worldwide, and there are people living who knew formerly enslaved Black Americans first-hand. In the wide arc of history, the legal enslavement of Black people on U.S. soil is a recent occurrence—so recent, in fact, that we have voice recordings of interviews with people who lived it.

Many of us have read written accounts of enslavement, from Frederick Douglass's autobiography to some of the 2,300 first-person accounts housed in the Library of Congress. But how many of us have heard the actual voices of people who were enslaved telling their own stories?

ABC News' Nightline with Ted Koppel aired a segment in 1999 in which we can hear the first-person accounts of people who had been enslaved taken from interviews conducted in the 1930s and 40s (also housed in the Library of Congress). They include the voice of a man named Fountain Hughes, who was born into slavery in 1848 and whose grandfather had "belonged to" Thomas Jefferson.

As Koppel says in the segment, "The results of these digitally enhanced recordings are arresting, almost unbelievable. The idea of hearing the voices of actual slaves from the plantations of the Old South is as powerful—as startling, really—as if you could hear Abraham Lincoln or Robert E. Lee speak."

Indeed, hearing formerly enslaved people share their experiences of being bought and sold like cattle, sleeping on bare pallets, and witnessing whippings for insubordination is a heartbreaking reminder of how close we are to this ugly chapter of our history. The segment is well worth the watch:

This article originally appeared five years ago.

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Laurence Fishburne reads epic letter from former slave to the 'master' who wanted him back

It's a powerful—and surprisingly funny—takedown of the colonel who'd enslaved him.

Photo credit: Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff (left), Public Domain (right)

Actor Laurence Fishburne and formerly enslaved man Jordan Anderson

Imagine being enslaved for over 30 years and then gaining your freedom, only to have the man who enslaved you ask you to come back and work for him a year later. Unthinkable, right?

A letter written in 1865 by Jordan (sometimes spelled "Jordon") Anderson, a formerly enslaved man in Ohio, to his former "master" Colonel P.H. Anderson in Tennessee demonstrates the ridiculousness of such a request—and offers a cathartic takedown the colonel most definitely deserved. After being freed by the Union Army in 1864, Jordan and his wife moved to Ohio to live and work. In the meantime, Colonel Anderson found that his plantation had fallen into total disrepair without the benefit of enslaved labor, so he desperately wrote to Jordan to ask him to come back and help save the property. He promised to pay Jordan and treat him as a free man if he came to work for him.

The audacity, though. Phew.

Jordan Anderson's response to his former "master" is a masterclass takedown.

Jordan didn't owe the colonel a response at all. He could have just ignored the letter and moved on with his life, but instead, he chose to dictate his response through his employer, Valentine Winters, and have it published in the Cincinnati Commercial under the title, "Letter from a Freedman to His Old Master." It was a hit. In 2023, actor Laurence Fishburne read the letter on "Letters Live" in his signature sonorous voice, and his delivery showcased the brilliance and humor in Jordan's response.

Watch:

- YouTubewww.youtube.com

The letter reads:

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

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

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

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

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

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

From your old servant,
Jordon Anderson

It's a fitting answer to the colonel's audacity. Jordan basically raises his middle finger and tells his former enslaver where to put it, all under the guise of polite correspondence.

And nearly 160 years later, people are raving about it:

"Perfect example of how the 'slave' reveals to the 'master' his class, grace and dignity. Three cheers to him."

"What an incredible writer. Formal yet conversational, hilarious yet restrained, a respectful tone yet absolutely scathing."

"That was the most eloquent, most polite way to say the biggest F you I’ve ever heard. Amazing. I salute you sir."

"I love how, even amidst all his sarcasm and justice, down the years we can still hear how very proud he was of his children. Here’s hoping they led great lives together."

"The quietly suppressed rage just under the humor/sarcasm is brilliant. This man is amazing."

"Absolutely brilliant. This letter is savage. Never heard such eloquent sarcasm in my life. I can't believe the gall of a slave owner to attempt to "hire" one of his former slaves. Jourdon must have been 1 in a million. I hope his descendants found peace and prosperity."

"A while ago I clicked over to the Letters Live site and read this. It is my absolute favourite. Anderson is a wonderful deadpan wit who frames his argument devastatingly well. He was cheated of his calling as a writer in my view. I'm glad to know he lived to 81 years and had 11 children. We can hope his legacy lives on."

Indeed. You can find more details about Jordan Anderson's life here.

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

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

GOOD

A photo of Jordan Anderson.

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

From your old servant,
Jordon Anderson

Learn more about Jordan Anderson here.


This article originally appeared on 11.03.17.


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LeVar Burton reveals why his chains from 'Roots' hang above his Emmys in his living room

"I want my guests to know, while I am unquestionably their friend, I am also absolutely filled with rage."

Tweigel59/Wikimedia Commons

LeVar Burton plays himself on the FX mini-series "Clipped."

LeVar Burton is probably best known—and loved—for his role as the host of the children's television series "Reading Rainbow." But his career as an actor has spanned a full 47 years, from his debut role as enslaved African Kunta Kinte in the mini-series "Roots" to his ongoing role of Geordi La Forge in the Star Trek spin-offs.

Now, he's playing another iconic role—a fictional version of himself.

In the FX mini-series "Clipped," Burton plays himself as a friend and confidant of former LA Clippers coach Doc Rivers, played by Laurence Fishburne. In a scene in the series finale, Burton and Rivers have a one-on-one conversation in which Burton shares that he has the chains he wore in "Roots" hanging above his 12 Emmys over the hearth in his living room—a real-life fact that he confirmed on social media after the episode aired.

"America first met me as Kunta Kinte, a young African kid who was kidnapped, tortured, refused his slave name," he told Rivers in the scene. "Then I read to their children and maintained the integrity of their favorite spaceship. Pretty soon, people began to think of me as…safe."

"Oh, the safest," agreed Rivers.

Burton then explained how he read the famous children's book, "Go the F**k to Sleep" for charity and lost one of his brand partners over it—a consequence of stepping out of line with expectations of him.

"If I showed how angry I really am?" Burton pondered. "But I'm not going to hide it. So I keep my chains on the wall in my living room. I want my guests to know, while I am unquestionably their friend, I am also absolutely filled with rage."

Watch:

According to an interview with "Clipped" creator Gina Welch in Vulture, Burton and Doc Rivers are not actually friends in real life, but Burton and Fishburne are, and this conversation is reflective of their real-life conversations about race they've had in the sauna.

At first, Fishburne didn't think Burton would be on board with playing the role. "Clipped" deals with the downfall of former Clippers owner Donald Sterling, who was caught on tape making racist remarks. "The kinds of things we’re talking about in the show are really not part of his [Burton's] public persona," said Fishburne, according to Welch. Burton agreed to be part of the production on one condition.

"The conversations really changed once LeVar agreed to do the show," Welch explained. "He was great. He read the scripts very quickly and called me, and then we met and his caveat was, 'I’ll do the show as long as I can talk about my rage.' I was like, 'Welcome to the party.'"

When most people think of LeVar Burton, "rage" isn't usually the first word that comes to mind, which is part of what makes this clip so powerful. As writer and civil rights activist James Baldwin famously said in 1961, "To be a Negro in this country and to be relatively conscious is to be in a state of rage almost, almost all of the time."

Baldwin's full quote offers even more context:

"To be a Negro in this country and to be relatively conscious is to be in a state of rage almost, almost all of the time — and in one's work. And part of the rage is this: It isn't only what is happening to you. But it's what's happening all around you and all of the time in the face of the most extraordinary and criminal indifference, indifference of most white people in this country, and their ignorance. Now, since this is so, it's a great temptation to simplify the issues under the illusion that if you simplify them enough, people will recognize them. I think this illusion is very dangerous because, in fact, it isn't the way it works. A complex thing can't be made simple. You simply have to try to deal with it in all its complexity and hope to get that complexity across."

Hopefully, hearing that one America's "safest," most wholesome and most beloved Black celebrities experience the inner rage that racism engenders will help get that complexity across to more people who can benefit from hearing it.

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