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69 pages 2 hours read

Edward E. Baptist

The Half Has Never Been Told: Slavery and the Making of American Capitalism

Nonfiction | Book | Adult | Published in 2013

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Key Figures

Charles Ball

Ball, an enslaved African-American man, appears the most frequently out of any of the figures in the book. When Baptist first introduces him, he does so to illustrate the way “Georgia-men” represent “a specific type of danger in the oral book of knowledge of enslaved African Americans (21) and to illuminate the changing nature of American slavery. Ball is 25 years old at the time and living in Maryland, where he is owned by his fifth master, “a hard man” (16) who sells him on to Georgia-men. Highlighting how frightening Georgia-men and the move south and west are to enslaved people, the men jump Ball from behind and tie him up because a slave who learns he is “being taken south might be desperate enough to do anything” (23). This is highlighted again when Ball, having been sold on again, asks another enslaved man if it’s true that slaves “have to eat cottonseed instead of food” in the South (112). The other man assures him that his fear is unfounded but warns that “his work in the cotton fields [will] be more difficult and draining than the long hours of labor he had served in Maryland” (112).

The story of Ball learning that this is indeed true helps to show how the pushing system functions and illuminates the theme of violence and torture as central to slavery’s efficiency. Ball’s shock at the condition of his fellow plantation slaves contributes to this, with the description of how “their skin [is] reddish and ashy, their hair matted and stringy. Bones [stand] out. Skin [hangs] slack where muscle ha[s] atrophied” (114). The same is true of his realization that his “pride in the good things his brain and body [can] do together” (143) has not prepared him for the monotonous but high-pressure picking work of the planation. However, it is his description of a woman, Lydia, being whipped until “[b]lood roll[s] off her back” with “ten feet of plaited cowhide” that is “different from all other whips that [Ball has] ever seen” (120) that truly highlights the fact that “[i]nnovation in violence […] [is] the foundation of the […] pushing system” (117).

Ball’s earlier journey with the Georgia-men also helps to highlight how the coffle-chain helps enslavers, particularly in his realization that “as long as he [is] in the coffle” he has to “carry the chain forward like a pair of obedient, disembodied feet” (26). The story of how he integrates into the family of “a man named Nero, his wife, and their five children” (150) and later “adopt[s] a trade-orphaned little boy” (283) helps to highlight how cooperation and communality are key to enslaved people’s solidarity and resistance

Joe Kilpatrick

Kilpatrick, another enslaved man, also helps to highlight this aspect of enslaved people’s solidarity and community-building, this time with a specific focus on how African-American men built new models of masculinity based around care, “ordinary virtues,” and “small, everyday acts that committed them to the survival of other human beings” (282). Sold to “a trader passing through North Carolina in the 1830s” (280), Kilpatrick is separated from his wife and his two daughters, Lettice and Nelly. When he is sold on and builds “a cabin on his enslaver’s cotton labor camp,” he adopts George Jones, “a five-year-old orphaned by the trade” (281). When, thanks to Kilpatrick’s care, Jones grows into an adult, he has two daughters of his own and names them Lettice and Nelly. Baptist highlights the fact that in “the slave labor camps of the Southwest, an adult man’s commitment to ordinary as opposed to heroic virtues [can] mean the difference between life and death for children like George Jones” (282). Ultimately, Baptist shows that men like Kilpatrick and Jones help keep their communities alive and functioning, in the face of great horror and abuse, by adopting “an idea of manhood incompatible with the readiness-for-vengeance that [has] long defined manhood, not only for white in the antebellum South, but throughout much of Western history” (281).

David Walker

Of course, not all African-American men eschew vengeance. David Walker, for instance, shows that many African Americans are righteously enraged by the abuse heaped upon them and their fellows by a white supremacist society and see violent revolt as the only solution. A free African American, Walker runs a secondhand clothing store in an African-American neighborhood in Boston. While living in Charleston, he had seen “panicked whites torture and execute over thirty enslaved men who had allegedly conspired […] to launch a slave revolt” (195). This and other experiences lead him to write and publish a book of essays titled An Appeal to the Coloured Citizens of the World, in which he declares that “[m]ost whites […] either directly or tacitly [support] slavery and [are] thus ‘our natural enemies’” (195). He calls for slaves to rise up against white violence and domination, insisting that “freedom is your natural right,” and promises white people that enslaved people will “glory in death,” statements that, Baptist notes, require “real courage” (196) in the volatile, racist society in which he lives. Walker’s writing spreads panic throughout white society and there are rumors that “various state governments [have] put a bounty of $3000 on [his] head” (197). When he does die, allegedly of consumption or tuberculosis, “[m]any African Americans [believe] that he [has] been poisoned” (197).

Lucy Thurston

Thurston only appears briefly in the book but her tale helps to show the traumatizing effects of slavery and the healing power of music and singing. Baptist illustrates this by drawing on one of the book’s symbols: “the story of the zombi” (146). Referring to African legends, he describes a “zombi” as “a living-dead person who ha[s] been captured by white wizards” and so abused that “[i]ntellect and personality” depart while “the ghost-spirit and body [remains] in the land of the dead, working at the will of the sorcerer planters” (146). Thurston becomes one such zombi; when she “dies,” she cannot rest, and “her body [cannot] settle into death on a cooling board” but instead must rise “morning after Louisiana morning” and “shuffl[e] into a sea of cotton” (145) to labor all day on the plantation. Thurston experiences something akin to a death of the spirit, becoming so deeply traumatized that she is entirely withdrawn, silent, and lost as loved ones attempt to “[call] to her” and “[fish] for her spirit” (146). They are unsuccessful until they begin to sing “a new tune whose wave carrie[s] across the gray field” (146). This, at last, reaches her, telling her that “We need you. You cannot go where you are trying to go” (146). She later recalls that, “I got happy […] and sang with the rest” (147). In this, Baptist employs Thurston’s story to show not only the psychological trauma of slavery but also that music can bring crucial relief and serve as “as another tongue, one that [speaks] what the first often [cannot]” (160).

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