People often talk about maternal instincts, but never mention paternal instincts or attachment to children. Mr. Sands seemed largely apathetic about the fate of his children, Benny and Ellen. Although Mr. Sands is white and his children were black according to the “one-drop-rule” it seemed like this issue extends deeper than race. Mr. Sands was hardly the only white man to father children with enslaved black women, and for all his “kindness” he seemed to care no more about he fate of his children than the cruelest master. It seems that throughout most cultures, mothers are expected to raise, love, and care for children while the father simply provides for the family. One could argue that a white man during this time would be ostracized if he abandoned his white children, and everyone would look the other way when he did the same to his black children.

It seems to me that despite the disparities between the races at the time, a man would still care about the children he fathered. Mr. Sands does repeatedly try to buy Linda and their children, but from my interpretation it didn’t seem like he cared that much about buying their freedom. I felt as if Mr. Sands’ was not a strong enough man to stand up to Dr. Flint. If Mr. Sands truly cared he wouldn’t have offered up his daughter as a maid to his cousin.

Linda’s relationship with Mr. Sands, and his relationship with his children mad me question the role of fathers and the idea of maleness at this time and in the present. Today people openly chastise “deadbeat dads” but I personally feel that mothers who abandon children are viewed more harshly.

Religion in the South

“There is a great difference between Christianity and religion at the south. If a man goes to the communion table, and pays money into the treasury of the church, no matter if it be the price of blood, he is called religious. If a pastor has offspring by a woman not his wife, the church dismiss him, if she is a white woman; but if she is colored, it does not hinder his continuing to be their good shepherd” (63). This statement demonstrates how corrupt religion was. Judging by the accounts in the book, being a Christian has become more of a symbol or a daily ritual that is followed without the actual belief in God. It was horrible how the slave masters used religion to manipulate their slaves. Not only did they completely ignore the Christian message that all men are equal, they basically taught their slaves that God created them to be beneath their masters. “After the alarm caused by Nat Turner’s insurrection had subsided, the slaveholders came to the conclusion that it would be well to give the slaves enough of religious instruction to keep them from murdering their masters” (57). Linda gives us an example of what was preached in sermons for slaves. “His text was, “Servants, be obedient to them that are your masters according to the flesh, with fear and trembling, in singleness of your heart, as unto Christ”” (57). The verses were carefully chosen in order to exert more control over the slaves. Even the masters’ permission for slaves to practice religion was merely a scheme to protect themselves. “The sermons were simple, and they understood them. Moreover, it was the first time they had ever been addressed as human beings. It was not long before his white parishioners began to be dissatisfied” (60). When one man began preaching differently, treating slaves as humans, the white community is immediately threatened. These slave masters were not genuine Christians.

Linda also tells us of uncle Fred, an old black man who was eager to learn more about God. Slaves were not allowed to read and therefore could not read the word of the Bible. “There are thousands, who, like good uncle Fred, are thirsting for the water of life; but the law forbids it, and the churches withhold it” (61). When Linda describes how uncle Fred had tears in his eyes because he thought that she would not teach him as it would violate the law (although she does teach him), I felt incredibly sad. Not only did slaves have to endure physical abuse, they were deprived of anything that would make them feel human. Depriving them of their right to believe is just as terrible as the physical abuse they received.

Fiction versus Reality

I found the letters between Harriet Jacobs and her editor fairly interesting, since it showed how active/ how much of a say Harriet had on her manuscript. One thing that I found most compelling was when Harriet talks about the manuscript itself, “I had never opened my life to Mrs. Willis concerning my children…it embarrassed me at first, but I told her the truth…saying that I wished it to be a history of my life entirely by itself, which would do more good, and it needed no romance: but she needed no romance; but if she wanted some facts for her book, that I would be most happy to give her some. (206)
The above passage was fairly moving to me, just because of how brilliantly raw “Incidents of a slave girl” really is. I think that the piece is strong on it’s own, without any sort of romanticism, and would have been shocked if Harriett actually changed or even toned down certain sections of the book, it would loose a grand part of it’s emotional impact on the reader. Although my initial reaction was one of pure disgust, especially in the chapters where Dr. Flint sexually harasses Harriet, then tells her that it is her fault for tempting him. As previously mentioned, it is in these scene, when the reader feels that they are completely helpless with what the scene is unraveling. If Harriett were to have censored herself, I feel that the overall piece wouldn’t have such an impact nor be much different from the other similar fictitious narratives. I agree with Harriett when she says that it is better that the narration remains truthful. Again, I believe that most books that are now labeled as nonfiction might carry more weight when talking about slavery, genocide, or other sort of human related tragedies, and have the potential to naturally shake up the reader a bit more. This reaction, is mostly organic, and the narrator and the reader may have a closer reaction if we do indeed know that this story that actually happened to someone. I wouldn’t say that if there was some less-graphic, more censored version of this would be pointless, but I feel that since this is a true narrative it remains unique and has the ability to stir the audience more than fiction. I am relived that she didn’t water it down to not shock people and decided to go into every uncomfortable detail. This book is hauntingly beautiful.

The hardships of slavery and racism.

“Pity me, and pardon me, O virtuous reader! You never knew what it is to be a slave; to be entirely unprotected by law or custom; to have the laws reduce you to the condition of a chattel, entirely subject to the will of another” (Jacobs).

In finishing Jacobs’ novel/narrative, I felt a sense of disenchantment. Reading her firsthand experiences as a slave made me feel the injustice of her time period. How can anyone treat another human being like that? How could African Americans be thought of as “property?”

I know these questions have been asked thousands of times and they have yet to receive solid answers, but I can’t help but think them. It brings me back to the overall question of racism; no matter how much you’re brainwashed, on some human level, you have to feel some sort of sympathy. I find it truly impossible that humanity could be that cruel and heartless towards its own kind. When you slap someone or insult someone, you feel bad for a reason. No matter how hardened or cold you may be, you feel something.

I can barely imagine myself in Linda’s (or Harriet’s, rather) place. Being trapped and forced into a life you were born into; something you have no control over, freaks me out. I don’t think I could have been as strong as she was. She hid herself in a tiny crawl space for seven years while her muscles slowly atrophied…she honestly had genuine strength of will. Furthermore, the separation she had from her children, the light of her life, was torturous. A mother seeing her child, and the child not knowing his or her mother is a terrible situation to be put in. Linda is one of the strongest people I have read about; she sacrificed everything for her children and for their freedom.

Harriet Jacobs v. Dinesh D'Souza

“Before us lay a city of strangers. We looked at each other, and the eyes of both were moistened with tears. We had escaped slavery, and we supposed ourselves to be safe from the hunters. But we were alone in the world, and we had left dear ties behind us; ties cruelly sundered by the demon Slavery” (Jacobs 125).

Even though I knew, from previous historical lessons on slavery in the United States, that fugitive slaves met a great deal of racism and conflict when they escaped to the North, I nevertheless was still surprised by the amount of prejudice Harriet Jacobs suffered after she though those terrible years were behind her. I suppose I was most surprised by the fact that, according to Jacobs’s testimonial, there were not stronger laws in place protected fugitive slaves from being returned to their masters. Furthermore, the Fugitive Slave Law, which was deemed constitutional for about nine years, destroyed the image of the North as a safe haven for runaway slaves. Even after the law had been struck down, however, I was still surprised by the amount of freelance slave hunters that were still operating throughout the Union. Of course, that fact alone is most likely the reason Harriet Jacobs had to use the pseudonym “Linda Brent.” While the sense of urgency within the text may be partially lost to modern readers, Jacobs’s apprehension in telling her life story is apparent throughout perhaps because she is aware that she is taking a great risk in revealing how she escaped slavery in the South. Not only could she be taken back to Dr. Flint and seriously punished but she could other get those who helped her in trouble as well.

When thinking about how Harriet Jacobs’s story relates or contrasts to modern commentaries on slavery in the U.S., I came to an essay by Dinesh D’Souza. D’Souza, who is an ultra-right wing writer and speaker, in his essay “The End of Racism,” talks about how African-Americans suffer a great deal from the backlash that multiculturalism receives in American society. D’Souza goes on to argue that blacks actually became less safe when slavery was abolished. D’Souza also defends the right wing’s support of segregation because he sees that Jim Crow laws actually sought to protect black people and their dignity. Furthermore, D’Souza lashes out against Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.’s belief (and, interestingly, a belief of Harriet’s as well) that people should be judged not by the color of their skin but by the content of their character and calls it outdated and full of liberal cultural integration that is simply outdated for the 21^st century. After I read D’Souza for the first time I felt an overwhelming sense of nausea and shame. I then recall laughing after I found out he was born in India. D’Souza, in my opinion, subconsciously conjures the slaveholders like Dr. and Mrs. Flint who, in an effort to get Harriet to return to their home, said how she would be treated as an equal. This “separate but equal” mentality (which, as no citizen of the United States should forget, was struck down in Brown v. Board of Education), seems almost appealing to everyone but slaves or anyone who has suffered the injustices from a racial majority. I think if D’Souza ever bothered to read Jacobs’s book and especially the above quote, he would have “sympathetically” shaken his head and lamented over how foolish she was. Yet Jacobs, importantly, attributes the breaking of familial ties not to her flight, but to the institution of slavery.

In a sense Jacobs’s, at least by the end of her book, never does attain the freedom that she so desperately desires. Her children, not to mention, even though they suffer less oppressed lives they are by no means able to mature and grow as free citizens. Yet without trying to fight the ignorant institution of slavery, Harriet and other would not have paved the way for future generations of African-Americans to fight for and gain even more of their entitled freedoms.

Jean Fagan Yellin says that she wrote her analysis of Harriet Jacobs’ letters because another essay had recently claimed that Incidents in the Life of a Slave Girl was a work of fiction. The author of the other essay classified Jacobs’ book as “not credible,” saying that it is probably a “fictional account…in which the major character might have been a real fugitive, but the narrative of [her] life is probably false” (203).

I understand why the credibility of the book was questioned, though I believe that everything Jacobs says happened really did occur. I haven’t read John Blassingame’s essay, so I don’t know why he judges Jacobs’ story to be unbelievable, but my guess is that the chapters about her hiding in an attic for seven years without going insane pushed him over the edge. When I was in seventh grade, I read Night by Elie Weisel. I’d read Holocaust stories before, but they’d all been novels for kids. I kept slipping into the idea that Night was fiction too. It seemed to horrible to have really happened—it was actually worse than the fiction I’d read, which makes sense because it was children’s fiction and they were leaving out some of the worse things. I couldn’t imagine anyone surviving the things Weisel survived and then managing to write about them. I had to actively remind myself that someone had really experienced this, that it was true. I found myself doing the same thing during the attic section of Jacobs’ book.

If this is Blassingame’s reason for being skeptical, it’s understandable. But the fact that he declared it fiction is also problematic: it denies slavery’s brutality and inhumanity by saying something so horrible couldn’t possibly have happened. That’s a dangerous road to go down. I think people have a tendency to forget how brutal humanity has been, historically. It’s easier to deny this capacity in ourselves than accept it and be on guard for its appearance in the world today. But if we deny that terrible things have happened, we make it easier for them to happen again. If for no other reason than, this, we should take Jacobs at her word.

Contemporary Responses

I thought that the Contemporary Responses included at the end of the novel were interesting, in the way that they shed light on the publishing world of that time period. The last Unsigned Announcement was particularly interesting: “She [the author] is in the city for a few days, and those who wish the book can procure it of her, at No. 107, North Fifth St” (165). It struck me as initially so different than now, that the author would have an address listed, and would personally hand people her book. I mean, I guess that is sort of like self-publishing now, and that the announcement is unsigned suggests that it could have been written by her – or by one of the people who advocated for the book in other letters. After all, in the letter on the first page of the Appendix, in writing about Jacobs’s initial reluctance to write and sell her story, Amy Post says, “But her sensitive spirit shrank from publicity” (157).

But the author of the unsigned announcement seems to be someone from the Christian Recorder, where the footnote says it appeared. After all, the author does refer to “we,” and says, “This is the title of a new work put into our hands by the author […]” (165).

How was the book put into their hands? In the other letters included, people are advocating for the book, and perhaps one of them gave it to the Christian Recorder. For example, the book is on sale at the Anti-Slavery Office and thus being promoted by William C. Nell (161-162), and Lydia Marie Child, who he mentions as writing the Introduction, writes a letter to Whittier which states the following: “The Boston booksellers are dreadfully afraid of soiling their hands with an Anti-Slavery book; so we have a good deal of trouble in getting the book into the market.” She then goes on to question him about prospects, saying in part, “If you think it worth while to send any to Newburyport or Amesbury, please inform me to whom to send.” This suggests that Child was doing her best to find buyers for the book, in spite of the political difficulty in selling it. But it also suggests that perhaps she wasn’t quite familiar with the book-publishing world, because she wasn’t sure where to go.

Was she familiar with it though? She was apparently Jacobs’s friend, and she says, “I have taken a good deal of pains to publish it, and circulate it, because it seemed to me well calculated to take hold of many minds […]” (163). This kind of reminds me of what literary agents say today. But was Child just Jacobs’s friend? She mentions knowing her daughter (163), and Nell says they were “acquainted.” I kind of put her on par with Amy Post, who was obviously her friend, and who Nell says wrote a letter in the book.

Ultimately of course, the book got published, and stuck around, which suggests that what’s important or good enough to be read will eventually get published. This reminded me of our conversation about Whitman and Leaves of Grass. He self-published, wrote his own letters to papers – but his book is widely published and read today. So, you asked in one class if Whitman’s failures before his success were heartening. I’m going to say: Yes.