9. Heroes and Villains of the Age of Exploration: The Transatlantic Slave Trade

My Name is Queen Nzinga Mbande of Ndongo & Matamba: Portuguese Resistance

I was born in 1583, in the Kingdom of Ndongo, in the heart of West Central Africa. My father, King Kiluanji, was a powerful ruler, and from a young age, I was taught not only the customs of our people but also the skills of diplomacy, warfare, and leadership. Unlike many women of my time, I learned to ride, hunt, and strategize for battle. My name, Nzinga, came from the umbilical cord wrapped around my neck at birth—a sign our people believed meant I would grow into a proud and strong leader.

Rise to Power

In my youth, I witnessed the growing threat of the Portuguese, who sought to dominate our lands and enslave our people. They allied with rival African groups and used their weapons to overpower villages. My brother became king after my father’s death, and I served as his envoy. In 1622, he sent me to negotiate with the Portuguese in Luanda. I entered their meeting hall dressed in the finest silks and adorned with gold, carrying myself with the dignity of a queen. When they failed to offer me a seat, I ordered one of my attendants to kneel so I could sit upon his back—showing that I would not be humbled by their arrogance.

Becoming Queen

After my brother’s death, I became queen of Ndongo. My rule began in a time of turmoil. The Portuguese and their allies continued to raid for captives, sending countless of our people across the ocean into slavery. I refused to bow to them. I formed alliances with neighboring kingdoms, and I did what was necessary to preserve our sovereignty, even if it meant adopting Portuguese customs or aligning with former enemies. I moved my court to the Kingdom of Matamba, where I could strengthen my power and continue resisting foreign control.

Warfare and Resistance

For decades, I fought the Portuguese and their African allies. I led my armies personally, dressed in warrior’s attire, and was often seen on the battlefield. I forged alliances with the Dutch when they came to challenge Portuguese power, always seeking the advantage that would best serve my people. I encouraged runaway slaves from Portuguese settlements to join my ranks, offering them freedom and a place among us. My tactics combined diplomacy and war, knowing that survival required both.

Diplomacy and Survival

Though war consumed much of my reign, I was also a diplomat. I used treaties to gain time and to protect my people when direct conflict was too costly. I adopted Christianity when it served my political aims, and I learned to navigate between African traditions and European demands. I understood that to preserve our independence, I had to master their language, their customs, and their politics.

Final Years and Legacy

I ruled until my death in 1663, living to the age of eighty—a long life for a queen who spent so much of it in battle. I left behind a kingdom that remained free of Portuguese domination during my lifetime and a legacy as one of Africa’s greatest resistors to the transatlantic slave trade. My story is one of survival, strength, and the refusal to be broken. I hope those who hear my tale remember that freedom is never given—it must be fought for and protected with all one’s might.

Slavery in the Old World – Told by Queen Nzinga

Long before the great ships came to our shores, slavery had existed in many lands. In ancient times, kingdoms across the earth held prisoners of war as servants. In Egypt, Rome, and Greece, the conquered were set to work in the fields, the mines, and the homes of their captors. Among the empires of the Middle East, in Asia, and in the far corners of the earth, bondage was known. Yet in those times, slavery was not always for life, nor was it always passed to the children. In many places, a slave could earn freedom, rise to trusted service, or even hold positions of honor.

African Traditions of Bondage

In our own lands, long before the first European set foot in Africa, we too knew forms of slavery. They were often the spoils of war—captives taken from rival kingdoms, held to serve for a time or to work for their masters. Sometimes these captives could be adopted into the community, marry, or earn their release. Slavery was not based on the color of the skin, for our continent was home to many peoples and shades. It was a part of war and politics, not yet a system designed to strip away generations of freedom.

The Arrival of Muslim Traders

Then came the traders from the north and east—Muslim merchants who traveled across the Sahara and along the coasts of the Indian Ocean. They brought with them goods from Arabia, Persia, and beyond: fine cloth, spices, and metal. In exchange, they sought ivory, gold, and slaves. They did not take only Africans with dark skin; they also traded in lighter-skinned captives from Europe and the Mediterranean. Through their networks, men and women from many lands were bought and sold, carried across deserts and seas into markets far from home. This trade grew for centuries, binding African kingdoms into the web of the wider world’s demand for labor.

European Traders Join the Traffic

By the time the Europeans first arrived as merchants, the routes and customs of slave trading were already in place through African and Arab networks. The Europeans learned quickly how to profit from them. They came with goods that some of our rulers desired—guns, metal tools, and foreign cloth—and they exchanged these for slaves taken in local wars or raids. At first, they were content to work through African and Muslim middlemen, letting others capture and deliver the human cargo. It was a commerce in lives that had not yet turned into the vast and brutal trade it would become, but its roots had already been planted.

Before the Storm

This was the world before the Portuguese began to claim our coasts and lands for themselves. Slavery was an old institution, known across nations and empires, but it was different in its limits and its purposes. What changed when the colonizers came was not only the scale of the taking, but the very nature of bondage. No longer would it be bound to the fate of war or the chance of release—it would become a chain that stretched across oceans, binding generation after generation. I remember the days before that storm, when slavery was a part of life’s fabric but not yet the engine of conquest and profit it would become.

Origins of the Slave Trade From Africa – Told by Queen Nzinga

When I was a child in Ndongo, long before I became queen, tales reached us of strangers arriving on the western coast of our land. They came in great wooden ships with billowing sails, carrying goods from far across the ocean. At first, these Portuguese were traders like others who had come before, offering cloth, metal, and firearms in exchange for ivory, copper, and other treasures. But their hunger soon turned to human lives, and the trade that began as an exchange of goods became a source of misery for countless Africans.

The Web of African Politics

Our continent was not a single kingdom, but a tapestry of many. Each had its own rulers, warriors, and ambitions. Some of these kingdoms were our allies, while others were our rivals. The Portuguese knew this and sought to turn one against the other. They would offer weapons or trade advantages to leaders who agreed to supply them with captives—often prisoners taken in war. This trade became a way for some rulers to strengthen their position, though it came at the cost of tearing families and villages apart.

The First Incursions into Ndongo

As the Portuguese moved inland from their base in Luanda, their desire for captives grew. They allied themselves with our enemies, raiding our villages and carrying away our people to the coast. Those taken were sold onto ships bound for the Americas, mostly the Caribbean and South America, never to return. These incursions were not only acts of war against our people but also a challenge to our authority as rulers. Their presence threatened the stability of our land and the balance of power between our neighbors.

Resistance and Negotiation

Not all kingdoms submitted to the Portuguese demands. Many, like Ndongo under my father and later under my own rule, resisted fiercely. We fought to defend our borders, forming alliances with neighboring peoples and, at times, even with other European powers to counter Portuguese influence. But resistance was not always through war alone. There were moments when negotiation became necessary—to buy time, to preserve our people, and to recover strength. Treaties were made, envoys were sent, and we learned the art of speaking with the Portuguese in their own language, even as we kept our hearts fixed on our own sovereignty.

The Beginning of a Long Struggle

The origins of the slave trade in our lands were not a single event but a gradual tightening of chains. At first, some believed they could control it, trading only the captives taken in wars they chose to fight. But over time, the Portuguese influence grew too strong, their alliances too deep, and their hunger for human lives too great. What began as a trickle of captives from inland wars became a river flowing to the coast, and from the coast across the ocean. I knew even then that this was a struggle that would not end in my lifetime, yet I was determined to fight it for as long as I drew breath.

Refusing to Submit – Told by Queen Nzinga

From the moment I took the throne of Ndongo, I knew that the Portuguese meant to strip us of our freedom and take our people into bondage. I would not let my kingdom be an easy hunting ground for slavers. They came with guns, steel, and ships, believing their power unmatched. But I had warriors, leaders, and the will to resist. We fortified our borders, trained our fighters in both traditional and European weapons, and learned to use the land to our advantage. Every raid they launched was met with our determination to drive them back.

Forging Alliances

A queen does not stand alone in such a struggle. I sought alliances far and near, uniting with neighboring rulers who also suffered under Portuguese raids. At times, I welcomed runaway captives from enemy-held lands, giving them refuge and asking only that they fight alongside us. When the Dutch came to challenge Portuguese power, I saw the opportunity and made them my allies, striking from two sides to weaken our common enemy. Every alliance was a tool, and I used them as any warrior uses a sword.

Guerrilla Tactics and Mobility

We could not always meet the Portuguese in open battle—they had more weapons and better supplies. So we fought with speed and cunning. My armies moved quickly through forests and marshes, striking without warning and vanishing before the enemy could respond. We attacked supply lines, freed captives from caravans, and harassed their garrisons until they could find no peace. This constant pressure kept them from claiming easy victories and gave our people more time to live free.

Negotiation as a Weapon

When strength alone could not hold the line, I used diplomacy as another form of resistance. I sat across from Portuguese governors and spoke in their own tongue, forcing them to see me not as a subject, but as an equal. I signed treaties when they served my people, breaking them when the Portuguese betrayed their word. Each negotiation was a way to stall their advance, rebuild our forces, and protect as many of our people as possible from the chains.

Defending Our Sovereignty

Though the struggle lasted my entire reign, I never accepted defeat. I knew the Portuguese might outlast me, but I was determined they would not conquer my spirit or my people’s will to resist. Every battle fought, every alliance forged, every treaty signed was part of the same purpose—to keep our land, our culture, and our dignity alive. The fight against enslavement was not only a matter of survival; it was the defense of who we were.

My Name is Olaudah Equiano: Former Slave, Now Abolitionist

I was born around 1745 in a small village called Essaka, in the region that is now part of Nigeria. My people were Igbo, and my early childhood was filled with the rhythms of village life. We had our customs, our dances, and our way of telling stories by the fire. I was surrounded by my family, learning the values of hard work and community. My father was a respected elder, and I never imagined my life would be anything other than what I had always known.

Capture and Separation

When I was about eleven years old, my world changed forever. One day, while my family was away from home, raiders attacked our village. They seized my sister and me, dragging us away from everything we loved. The journey that followed was long and filled with fear. We were moved from place to place, sold to different masters, and my sister and I were eventually separated. I remember the deep ache of loneliness, the longing for my family, and the uncertainty of what was to come.

The Middle Passage

Eventually, I was brought to the coast and sold to European traders. I had never seen the sea before, and the sight of the large ships terrified me. I was forced aboard one of these vessels, and there I experienced the horrors of the Middle Passage. The stench, the sickness, the cries of despair—they are things I can never forget. We were packed together so tightly that it was difficult to move, and many died before ever seeing land again. I somehow survived, though I felt as though I had left my old life behind forever.

Life in Slavery

In the Americas, I was sold and resold, serving in various places, including Virginia and later on British ships. My time at sea brought me new skills but also exposed me to dangers and cruelty. I learned English, and through keen observation, I came to understand the ways of my captors. Life was harsh, but I adapted, and I began to dream of a day when I might be free.

Freedom and Faith

After many years, I was able to purchase my own freedom in 1766. It was a moment I had long prayed for, and it opened the door to a new life. My Christian faith became a guiding force for me, offering both comfort and purpose. I believed that God had spared me for a reason, and I felt called to speak out against the injustice I had endured.

The Abolitionist Cause

In England, I became involved with the abolitionist movement. I told my story to those who would listen, hoping to open their eyes to the cruelty of the slave trade. My travels took me across Britain, and I spoke before audiences large and small. In 1789, I published my autobiography, The Interesting Narrative of the Life of Olaudah Equiano, which recounted my journey from Africa to freedom. The book reached many and became a powerful tool in the fight to end the transatlantic slave trade.

Legacy and Reflection

As I look back on my life, I see a journey marked by suffering, resilience, and a relentless pursuit of justice. I lost my family, my home, and my childhood, yet I found a voice that could help change the world. My hope is that my story will remind others of the value of freedom and the importance of standing against oppression in all its forms.

The Day My World Ended – Told by Olaudah Equiano

I was a boy of eleven when the raiders came. The sun was high, and the air was still when strangers burst into our village. They moved quickly, their faces hard, their weapons flashing. My sister and I were seized before we could cry out, and in a single moment, the life I had always known was torn away. I felt the grip of rough hands on my arms, the pounding of my heart, and the terror that swallowed all thought. I did not know where they were taking us, only that we were being pulled from everything we loved.

Separation and Fear

For a short time, my sister was with me, and her presence was a small comfort in the storm of my fear. We were passed from one group of captors to another, moving from village to village. Some treated us with a measure of kindness, others with cruelty. Then came the day we were separated, sold to different hands. I remember her face as they took her away, the sound of her crying, and the hollow silence that followed. From that moment, I felt utterly alone.

The March to the Coast

The journey toward the coast was long and exhausting. We walked for days, sometimes with little food or water, our feet raw from the rough paths. I saw other captives, some older, some younger than I, all with the same look of despair. The nights were restless, the fear of escape mixed with the knowledge that there was nowhere to run. We passed through strange lands with languages I could not understand, and I began to realize how far I was from home.

The Gathering at the Forts

At last, we reached the place where the earth seemed to open into endless water. I had never seen the sea before, and the sight of it was both wondrous and terrifying. Along the shore stood great wooden structures—forts filled with more captives than I could count. We were crowded into dark, airless rooms, the smell of fear and sickness heavy around us. Here, I learned that we were not to stay in Africa. We were to be sent across the water to lands we had never heard of, never seen, and would never leave. In that place, the last ties to my home were cut, and the weight of what I had lost began to settle upon me.

First Sight of the Ship – Told by Olaudah Equian

When they led me to the water’s edge, I saw it for the first time—a great wooden vessel towering over the shore. Its masts rose like trees, and its sides were lined with strange ropes and sails. I had never imagined such a thing could exist. But the wonder quickly turned to dread when I saw the crowd of captives being herded up a narrow plank and into a dark opening in the ship’s side. The air smelled of filth and sickness, and the sound of chains rattling reached my ears long before I stepped aboard.

Below Decks

Once inside, they forced us down into the hold, a place so low and cramped that a man could hardly sit upright. We were packed so tightly together that our bodies touched on all sides, unable to move without pressing against another. The air was thick with heat and the stench of human waste. Buckets served as our only relief, but they quickly overflowed, adding to the foulness of the space. The suffocating air made breathing a struggle, and many fainted or grew violently ill.

Sickness and Death

It was not long before disease spread among us. The close air, the filth, and the lack of clean water claimed lives every day. I watched as men, women, and children grew weaker until they could no longer rise. Their bodies were carried away and thrown into the sea without ceremony. The cries of the sick and the wails of the mourning filled the darkness. Each day, I wondered if my own life would end before I ever set foot on land again.

The Weight on the Spirit

Worse than the hunger or sickness was the despair. We did not know where we were going or what fate awaited us. Some tried to escape the misery by throwing themselves overboard, preferring the deep to the life that lay ahead. Others refused to eat, only to be beaten or forced to swallow food by our captors. I felt my heart grow heavy, my spirit worn thin, yet I clung to the hope that I might somehow survive. I did not know then that this voyage, the Middle Passage, would remain one of the most terrible memories of my life.

The First Africans Arrive in North America – Told by Olaudah Equiano

Let us go back, in time, long before my own capture. A group of Africans was taken from their homeland, the Kingdom of Ndongo, and carried across the sea on the São João Bautista, heading for the Caribbean. The White Lion, an English merchant vessel and privateer attacked and captured the São João Bautista in the summer of 1619. Disease and poor conditions had already killed many on board. After the White Lion seized part of this human cargo, the privateer sailed to a place called Virginia in North America to trade their goods.

The Landing in Virginia

When the White Lion anchored at Point Comfort, the captain traded about twenty of these Africans for supplies—food to keep his crew alive. They were brought ashore not as free people, but not yet as chattel slaves either. At that time, the English in Virginia had no laws written that made a man a slave for life based on the color of his skin. Instead, they treated these Africans as they did many who came to the colony—bound in indentured servitude.

Indentured Servitude in 1619

Indentured servitude meant that a person was required to work for a set number of years—often between four and seven—in exchange for passage, food, and shelter. It was a hard life, filled with endless labor in the tobacco fields, but it carried the hope of eventual freedom. At the end of the term, a servant could receive “freedom dues,” which might be land, tools, or clothing to begin a new life. In those early years, Africans could, at least in theory, follow the same path as Europeans in service and one day live as free men and women.

The Fate of the First Africans

Some of the first Africans in Virginia did earn their freedom, taking land and raising families. They became part of the small population of free Black people in the colony, owning property and working alongside their neighbors. Yet their position was never fully secure. They lived in a time when the rules were still being written, and those rules would soon turn against them. Over the decades that followed, the laws changed—gradually at first, then with greater speed—until Africans and their descendants were bound to serve for life, and their children inherited their bondage.

The Beginning of a New Order

The arrival of the White Lion’s captives was a moment that would shape the future of the land. In 1619, the system that would one day be called racial slavery had not yet taken root in Virginia, but the seeds were sown. What began as a life under contract would, for those who came later, become a life without end to the chain. Those first twenty-some souls lived at the turning point, a brief moment when freedom after bondage was still possible, before the door closed and the generations after them would find it barred.

My Name is Anthony Johnson: Former Slave, Slaveholder

I was born around the year 1600 in a land far across the ocean from where my bones now rest. My name then was not Anthony Johnson, and my life was filled with the customs, people, and language of my home in Africa. I cannot tell you the exact day the traders came, but I remember the fear. I was captured, taken from my people, and forced onto a ship bound for a land I did not know.

Arrival in Virginia

The year was 1621 when I first stepped onto the soil of Virginia, brought here aboard the ship James. I was an African in an English colony, sold as an indentured servant. My master put me to work in the tobacco fields, where the days were long, the labor was punishing, and the hope of freedom seemed faint. The Powhatan uprising of 1622 nearly claimed my life, yet I survived, one of only a handful left on our plantation.

Gaining My Freedom

I served my term as an indentured servant and, in time, earned my release. Freedom did not come as a gift—it came from years of toil and the will to endure. Once free, I took the name Anthony Johnson, and I began to build a life in this new land. I acquired land of my own on Virginia’s Eastern Shore, planted crops, and raised a family. My wife, Mary, had also been brought from Africa, and together we worked to create a place of security.

A Man of Property

Over the years, my farm prospered. I gained more land, employed laborers, and even owned servants myself—both African and European. In this time, before the laws hardened into the chains of racial slavery, a free Black man could own property, raise livestock, and even petition the courts. I was proud of what I had built, for I had begun my life in this colony as a man with nothing.

The Case of John Casor

In 1655, a man named John Casor, who had worked for me for many years, claimed that he was owed his freedom. I took the matter to the Virginia court, and the decision fell in his favor at first, due to other white neighbors who sided with him. Mainly because they wanted to pay him for work around their land. So, I appealed it, and without the money to defend himself, the courts sided with me, declaring that Casor would serve me for life. It was one of the first such rulings in the colony, setting a precedent for lifelong servitude for a man of African descent. Some might judge my actions harshly, but in those days, survival was bound to the labor you could command. I lived in a world where property meant security, and I acted as others around me did.

Final Years and Legacy

I lived out my days as a landowner and patriarch, dying around 1670. After my death, my family kept my land and grew their own. My story is a complicated one—a journey from bondage to freedom, from servant to master, from survivor to landholder. It is a story that reflects the changing face of America in its earliest years, and it reminds us that history is seldom simple.

Arriving in a Land of Servants – Told by Anthony Johnson

When I first came to Virginia in 1621, I was not alone in my condition. Africans like myself, as well as men and women from England, Ireland, and other parts of Europe, arrived under terms of indentured servitude. The ship’s hold did not carry only one color of man. We were bound by contracts—some entered willingly to escape poverty, others pressed into service through capture or debt. These contracts promised that after a set number of years, usually four to seven, a servant would earn freedom.

Life Under Contract

Indentured service was harsh. We worked long hours in the tobacco fields, our backs bent under the sun, our hands raw from the soil. We were subject to punishment if we disobeyed, and our time of service could be extended for running away or other offenses. But there was an end in sight, and that end made all the difference. It was the promise of finishing one’s term that kept many going through the hardest days.

Freedom at the End of Service

When a servant’s term was done, he was free to go where he pleased. In some cases, the master granted “freedom dues”—land, tools, seed, or clothing to help a man start his own life. This was how I began my own path as a free man, planting my own crops and raising my own cattle. Some former servants stayed near their masters’ land, working for wages. Others moved farther afield, seeking new opportunities. For those who survived their term, freedom was a real and tangible reward.

The Difference from Chattel Slavery

In those early years, the system of labor in Virginia was not yet fixed along lines of race. An African servant’s future could, in theory, follow the same course as a European’s—time served, then freedom. There was no law yet that declared a man’s children would be born into bondage because of the color of his skin. But this balance did not last. Over time, the laws began to change, and the path from servitude to freedom narrowed for Africans until it was gone entirely.

Looking Back

I lived through the turning of that tide. I knew men who gained their freedom after years of service, and I saw others trapped in a system that no longer offered release. Indentured servitude could be a cruel bargain, but it carried hope. Chattel slavery stripped even that away, binding not only the man but his children and their children after them. Remembering how it once was makes clear just how great the loss was when freedom was no longer promised.

My Name is John Casor: The First Declared African Slave in the United States

I was born around 1640, most likely in the English colony of Virginia, but maybe I came here as a child, I do not recall. My earliest memories are not of freedom, but of labor. I was of African descent, though I had never seen the land of my ancestors. The colony was young then, still carving itself out of the wilderness, and those like me—of both African and European origin—worked under contracts of servitude. My life was tied to the land and the will of others.

Years in Service

From my youth, I worked in the fields, planting and tending tobacco. The days were long, and the summers unforgiving. I was bound to Anthony Johnson, a man of African birth who had himself once been an indentured servant. At first, my service felt no different from others in the colony—we labored until our agreed time was done, with the promise of freedom ahead. That promise was the light I held to, the hope that one day I could work my own land and live on my own terms.

Dispute Over My Freedom

After many years of labor, I believed I had fulfilled my obligation. I sought to leave Johnson’s service, and I placed myself under the protection of a neighbor, Robert Parker. Parker believed I was free, and for a time, I lived in his household, thinking my struggle was over. But Johnson disagreed. He claimed that I still belonged to him and took the matter to the Virginia courts. We went to court and I won my freedom.

The Court’s Decision

But, in 1655 Johnson appeal to the courts and this time, without the financial backing needed, the courts ruled in Johnson’s favor, declaring that I would serve him for life. This was not the common way of things then—most Africans in Virginia were still treated as indentured servants, eventually gaining their freedom. My case marked one of the first legal decisions in the colony to make a man of African descent a slave for life. That ruling changed my fate forever. I had not been captured in Africa, nor brought here in chains, but I was now bound as though I had been.

Living with the Consequences

I do not know how many more years I lived after that ruling, but I carried the weight of it every day. I became an example—not of freedom earned through service, but of how the laws could be bent to make bondage permanent. My life became a warning of what was to come, as the colony shifted from a place where race was not the sole measure of bondage to one where it defined the lives of generations.

Legacy and Reflection

I am remembered not for the land I might have worked as a free man, nor for a family I might have raised in liberty, but for a court case that helped open the door to racial slavery in America. My story is one of hope denied and freedom taken, a sign of the turning tide in the mid-17th century when the law began to close its hand around those of my heritage. I leave it for others to decide what lesson it should teach, but I know what it cost me.

The Anthony Johnson–John Casor Case 

The Dispute Begins – Anthony Johnson

I had worked my way from bondage to freedom, built land, raised crops, and gathered workers to keep my farm alive. John Casor was one of those workers, and for many years he labored on my land. He claimed his service was done, but I believed he was bound to me for life, the terms of his indenture either misunderstood or misrepresented. To lose him would have been to lose a hand I depended on. I turned to the courts to settle the matter, believing they would uphold my right.

My Claim to Freedom – John Casor

I had served Anthony Johnson faithfully for many years, longer than any contract should bind a man. In those days, most servants—whether African or European—were freed after a set term. I believed my time was done. I sought the protection of a white neighbor, Robert Parker, who agreed that I was no longer bound to Johnson. To me, this was not a matter of disloyalty but of claiming what was mine by right—my liberty after years of labor.

Taking the Case to Court – Anthony Johnson

When John left my service for Parker’s, I could not let the matter rest. In the court at Northampton County, I argued that Casor had been my servant for life. I brought witnesses who testified that this had always been the understanding. I believed that without his labor, my land and my family’s livelihood would suffer. This was not merely a personal dispute; it was about securing what I saw as lawful property.

Defending My Freedom – John Casor

The first court would not accept his claim; Robert Parker stood beside me the entire way. Then Johnson had to appeal the case to a higher court. In that court, I stood by my claim that no man, not even Anthony Johnson, could keep me bound beyond the years I had already served. I spoke of the customs in Virginia, where contracts ended and men walked free. I had been treated as any other servant, not as a slave for life, and I expected to be released as others had been. I feared that if I lost, I would not only lose my freedom but also see others like me bound forever.

The Court’s Decision – Both Voices

The judges ruled in Johnson’s favor, declaring that John Casor would serve him for life. For Anthony Johnson, this was a victory, the law recognizing his claim as valid. For John Casor, it was the end of his hope for freedom. We both knew this decision was unusual—most Africans then still earned release after their terms—but the court’s words would echo far beyond our quarrel. It marked one of the first times in Virginia that a man of African descent was legally made a slave for life.

The Legacy of the Case – Both Voices

Anthony Johnson: I saw the decision as a defense of my rights in a world where those rights were never guaranteed to a man of my color. Yet I know that in time, the laws turned against all Africans, free or not.John Casor: For me, the case was a turning point not just in my life, but in the life of the colony. What happened in that court became part of the slow turning of servitude into racial slavery, binding generations yet unborn. We were two men caught in a moment of change, and the ripples of that moment would spread far beyond us both.

From Term to Lifetime for All Slaves of African Descent – Told by John Casor

When I was young, the rules of labor in Virginia were not yet fixed in the way they would later become. Africans and Europeans alike came as servants, bound for a term of years, with the promise of freedom at the end. I believed myself to be part of that system. I had served my time under Anthony Johnson, expecting to walk away as others did. But my case in 1655 changed that path forever—not just for me, but for many who would come after.

The Court’s New Ruling

When the court declared that I would serve Johnson for life, they broke with the usual pattern of indentured service. They wrote into law something that had been rare until then: that a man of African descent could be bound permanently, with no set end to his labor. This was more than just a judgment against me—it was the planting of a seed that would grow into a system of racial slavery.

The Law Turns Toward Race

Over the years that followed, the laws of Virginia began to draw clear lines between the futures of Africans and Europeans. Where a white servant’s children would be born free, the children of an African mother were declared slaves from birth. The possibility of earning freedom through service grew smaller and smaller for my people, until it disappeared entirely. My own loss of liberty was not the last—it was an early link in a chain that would bind generations.

The Social Divide Widens

As the law hardened, so did the feelings between people of different colors. In the early days, some Africans gained freedom, owned land, and even had servants of their own. But after cases like mine, the path to equality closed. Free Black men and women faced increasing suspicion and restrictions. The colony began to see us not as workers who could one day be neighbors, but as a separate, permanent class of laborers to be owned.

The Weight of a Precedent

I could not have known, standing in that court, how far the reach of their decision would go. My case became part of the foundation for a new kind of bondage—one not based on the length of a contract, but on the color of the skin. That change shaped the lives of countless men, women, and children who would never even know my name. It is a bitter thing to see your own misfortune turned into the rule for others, but it is the truth of how servitude became slavery in America.

My Name is William Wilberforce (1759–1833): British Politician and Abolitionist

I was born in 1759 in the port city of Hull, England, into a family of merchants. My childhood was comfortable, though marked by the loss of my father when I was still a boy. My mother’s family valued religion, and for a time I lived with an aunt and uncle whose Methodist faith left a deep impression on me. Those early lessons in morality and compassion would one day shape the course of my life, though I did not yet know it.

Education and Parliament

I attended St John’s College at Cambridge, where I formed a close friendship with William Pitt, who would later become Prime Minister. Politics attracted me, and with my family’s wealth and my ability to speak well, I won a seat in Parliament at the age of twenty-one. At first, I lived for the pleasures of society—dinners, conversation, and influence. But meeting thoughtful men and hearing the needs of the people began to change my ambitions.

A Spiritual Turning Point

In my mid-twenties, I experienced a profound religious awakening. Faith became the center of my life, guiding my choices and sharpening my sense of purpose. I considered leaving politics altogether, thinking that public life might conflict with my newfound convictions. It was William Pitt who persuaded me to stay, telling me that I could serve God by working to improve the laws and the moral character of the nation.

The Call to Abolition

I was introduced to the horrors of the transatlantic slave trade through the work of Thomas Clarkson and other reformers. They brought me evidence—chains used on ships, diagrams showing how human beings were crammed into holds, accounts from sailors who had seen the cruelty firsthand. Once I understood the scale of the suffering, I knew I could not stand aside. In 1787, I committed myself to the cause of abolition.

Years of Struggle

Bringing a motion to end the slave trade before Parliament was only the beginning. For nearly twenty years, I faced opposition from powerful merchants, colonial interests, and members of Parliament who claimed that the trade was vital to Britain’s economy. My bills failed again and again, but each defeat only strengthened my resolve. Public opinion began to shift as abolitionists spread the truth through pamphlets, speeches, and petitions.

Victory and Beyond

In 1807, the Abolition of the Slave Trade Act finally passed, ending Britain’s legal role in transporting enslaved Africans. Yet the work was not finished. I turned my efforts toward ending slavery itself throughout the British Empire. Though my health declined, I lived long enough to see the Slavery Abolition Act passed in 1833, just days before my death.

Reflections on a Life’s Work

I entered Parliament as a young man seeking influence, but I left the world as one who had fought for justice. My life was shaped by faith, friendship, and the conviction that no wealth or power could excuse the oppression of another human being. I hope to be remembered not only for the laws I helped pass, but for proving that persistent, principled effort can change the course of history.

The Web of Commerce: Economic Drivers of the Slave Trade – Told by Wilberforce

When I first turned my mind to the cause of abolition, I knew that one could not fight the slave trade without understanding the machinery that kept it alive. It was not driven by ignorance alone, but by a great web of commerce stretching from Africa to the Americas to Europe. This network, often called the triangular trade, was a system in which human lives became mere cargo, valued only for the profit they could produce.

The First Leg: Europe to Africa

Ships left the ports of England, France, and other European nations laden with goods—textiles, firearms, iron, gunpowder, and trinkets. These were not destined for European markets, but for the African coast. There, merchants and agents exchanged them for men, women, and children captured in wars or raids. These transactions enriched traders on both sides, though one side paid in commodities, the other in human lives.

The Middle Passage: Africa to the Americas

The second leg was the most infamous—the Middle Passage. The captives, shackled and packed into the holds of ships, were transported across the Atlantic Ocean. Mortality rates were appallingly high, yet shipowners calculated their losses into the cost of doing business. To them, the sale of survivors in the Americas was the true profit point, and the suffering endured was simply an accepted expense of their trade.

The Final Leg: The Fruits of Forced Labor

In the Caribbean, North America, and South America, enslaved Africans were sold to work on plantations producing sugar, tobacco, cotton, and coffee. These goods, harvested through unrelenting labor, were shipped back to Europe. There, they were refined, sold, and consumed, fueling the industries and luxuries that Europeans had come to expect. The profits from these products paid for the next shipment of goods to Africa, and so the cycle began again.

Industries Built on Human Suffering

This trade fed not only plantation owners and ship captains, but also dockworkers, refiners, merchants, bankers, and manufacturers in European cities. Even those who never saw a slave ship still took part in the chain of profit—investing in voyages, insuring cargoes, and selling goods made from the raw materials of forced labor. The wealth of nations grew from the toil of the enslaved, and the economy itself became bound to their oppression.

The Challenge of Breaking the Chain

Such was the strength of this system that when I first entered Parliament to speak against it, I was told I was fighting against the very lifeblood of the empire. Yet I believed that no wealth, however vast, could justify the moral crime of enslaving a man. The economic arguments for the trade were loud and persistent, but I knew they must be met with arguments stronger still—those of justice, humanity, and the unshakable truth that no man should be treated as another’s property.

Answering the Call: Abolition Movements in Britain - Told by Wilberforce

I did not set out in life to be an abolitionist. My early years in Parliament were spent on matters of commerce and reform, but a conversation with my friend William Pitt the Younger, and the persistent urging of Thomas Clarkson, brought the slave trade to the forefront of my conscience. Once I understood the depth of the cruelty it inflicted, I could not turn away. I felt, deep within my faith, that God had set before me the task of ending Britain’s part in this wicked traffic.

Gathering the Evidence

The first step was to shine light where darkness had hidden the truth. Clarkson and others traveled to the ports, speaking with sailors who had served on slave ships, gathering chains, branding irons, and diagrams of ship holds. These were brought before Parliament, stark proof that the trade was a calculated system of suffering. Pamphlets and books spread these findings to the public, stirring outrage among those who had never before considered where their sugar and rum had come from.

The Battle in Parliament

In 1789, I made my first speech in the House of Commons against the slave trade. I spoke for hours, detailing the horrors of the Middle Passage and the moral stain it left upon our nation. Yet the opposition was fierce. Members argued that the trade was essential to the economy, that it supported our colonies, that it was not Parliament’s place to interfere. My motions failed again and again, but I resolved to bring them back every year until the day they passed.

The Power of Public Pressure

Outside Parliament, the people themselves took up the cause. Meetings were held in towns across Britain, petitions were signed by tens of thousands, and the boycott of West Indian sugar became a powerful statement of conscience. Women’s groups, often excluded from political life, played a leading role in organizing these efforts. The movement grew beyond the walls of Westminster, becoming a moral force the government could not ignore.

The Turning of the Tide

Years of persistence, both in the Commons and among the public, slowly began to shift the ground. The tide of war with France, changes in the economy, and the unrelenting evidence of cruelty weakened the defenders of the trade. In 1807, after nearly two decades of struggle, the Abolition of the Slave Trade Act passed, ending Britain’s legal participation in the buying and transporting of slaves. It was not the end of slavery itself, but it was a great step toward that goal.

Looking Back

When I think on those long years, I remember both the victories and the many defeats that preceded them. I did not act alone; it was the work of countless hands and voices, united in the belief that we could not claim to be a Christian nation while profiting from the misery of others. The struggle proved that persistence, truth, and moral conviction can overcome even the most entrenched interests. It is my hope that this lesson will be carried into every battle for justice yet to come.

My Name is Harriet Tubman: Escaped Slave and Underground Railroad Conductor

I was born around 1822 in Dorchester County, Maryland, and from my first breath, I belonged to someone else. My parents, Harriet Green and Ben Ross, were enslaved, and so was I. As a child, I worked in the fields and in the house, enduring harsh conditions and the constant threat of violence. One blow to my head, dealt by an overseer when I tried to protect another enslaved person, left me with a lifetime of seizures and visions. I grew up with faith in God and a fierce yearning for freedom.

Escape to Freedom

In 1849, I learned that I was about to be sold, and I could not let my life be torn from me again. I decided to run. My brothers started with me but lost their nerve and turned back. I kept going alone, moving under the cover of night, guided by the North Star and the kindness of strangers along the Underground Railroad. When I crossed into Pennsylvania, I breathed free air for the first time. But my freedom felt incomplete knowing so many I loved were still in chains.

The Work of Rescue

I could not stay away. I returned to Maryland again and again, leading others to freedom. I used secret codes, safe houses, and the cover of darkness to move my passengers north. I never lost a single soul on the journeys I led. The risks were great—slave catchers offered rewards for my capture, and one mistake could have meant death—but the call to free my people was stronger than my fear.

Service in the Civil War

When the Civil War began, I joined the Union cause. At first, I worked as a nurse and cook, tending to the sick and wounded soldiers. Later, I served as a scout and spy, using my knowledge of the land and my ability to move unnoticed to gather information. I even led an armed raid along the Combahee River in South Carolina that freed more than seven hundred enslaved people. It was the first military operation in U.S. history planned and led by a woman.

Life After the War

After the war, I settled in Auburn, New York, where I continued to help others. I cared for the poor, the sick, and the elderly, opening my home to those in need. I also worked for the cause of women’s suffrage, believing that justice must reach everyone. Though I lived humbly and often struggled for money, I found wealth in the lives I had helped change.

Legacy and Reflection

I died in 1913, but I leave behind a life of service, sacrifice, and unwavering faith. I was called “Moses” by those I led to freedom, but I was only a servant doing God’s work. My story is not just about my own journey—it is about the countless men, women, and children who dared to dream of freedom and fought to claim it. My hope is that my life will remind others that one person’s courage can light the way for many.

Life of the Enslaved in the Americas – Told by Harriet Tubman

I was born into the fields, and from the time I was big enough to carry water or gather kindling, I worked from sunup to sundown. On the plantations, the rhythm of life was set by the overseer’s call and the crack of the whip. We planted, tended, and harvested crops—mostly tobacco in my younger years, later corn and other staples. There was no rest except at night, and even then, our bodies ached from the day’s labor. The seasons brought no relief, only a change in the kind of work to be done.

The Overseer’s Rule

Discipline was kept by fear. An overseer carried a whip, and the lash was used for the smallest offenses—slowing down, speaking out of turn, or simply being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Punishments could be severe, meant to make an example of a person. I saw men and women beaten, branded, or shackled. The law offered us no protection, and the master’s word was final.

Families Torn Apart

One of the cruelest parts of slavery was the constant threat of separation. A husband could be sold away from his wife, a mother from her child, without warning. I remember seeing people beg on their knees for their loved ones to be spared, only to watch them marched off in chains. For those left behind, the grief was deep, but there was no time to mourn—not when the work never stopped.

Finding Strength in Faith

Even in the harshest conditions, we found ways to hold on to our humanity. Faith was a refuge for many of us. We gathered in secret to sing, pray, and share the stories of deliverance from the Bible, believing that God saw our suffering and would one day set us free. The songs we sang carried messages of hope and sometimes even instructions for escape, though our masters thought they were nothing but harmless hymns.

Small Acts of Resistance

Survival meant more than just keeping the body alive—it meant keeping the spirit unbroken. We resisted in ways large and small. Some slowed their work to steal back a moment of rest. Others broke tools or let the master’s livestock wander loose. Those who could read or write taught others in secret, passing on knowledge that could one day help someone gain freedom. Every small act was a way of saying that we were still human, still our own, no matter what chains we wore.

Holding On

Life on the plantation was a daily battle, but we held fast to whatever scraps of dignity and love we could keep. We cherished family when we had it, and when we didn’t, we made family out of the people beside us in the fields. We told stories from the old country, sang songs to our children, and looked to the night sky for signs of a better future. It was in these small, quiet ways that we endured, waiting for the day when we could step beyond the fields and never look back.

Keeping the Old Ways Alive: Cultural Survival and Adaptation – Told by Tubman

Even in the fields, far from the land of our ancestors, pieces of Africa lived on in us. We carried the memory of old songs, dances, and ways of working the land. Some of the crops we tended—okra, yams, rice—were ones our people had grown for generations. We cooked them with the seasonings and methods handed down through whispers and practice. The languages we spoke were mixed now, but certain words, rhythms, and gestures carried the echoes of home.

Faith as a Refuge

Religion became both a comfort and a shield. Many of us embraced the stories of the Bible, seeing in them the promise of deliverance. Moses leading his people out of Egypt felt like our own story, and the hope of freedom was woven into our prayers. But alongside the Christian faith, we kept older beliefs, often hidden from the master’s eyes. These blended together in ways that gave us strength, making our worship a place of both spiritual power and quiet defiance.

The Power of Music

Our music was more than just sound—it was a lifeline. The rhythm of work songs kept our hands moving in the fields, while their hidden meanings carried news, warnings, or encouragement. Spirituals spoke of heaven and freedom, but many also told when and how to escape. A song could signal that a conductor on the Underground Railroad was near, or that the time was right to move. In singing together, we built unity, and in unity, we found courage.

Stories to Remember and Teach

Storytelling was one of our oldest traditions, and it thrived even in bondage. Around the fire or in stolen moments of rest, we told tales of clever animals and brave heroes. These stories taught our children to be wise, to keep hope, and to outwit those who would harm them. Some tales came straight from Africa; others grew here in the Americas, blending old and new into something that was ours alone.

Resilience Through Community

We made families where we could, sometimes with blood relatives, sometimes with those who simply stood beside us in our struggle. We celebrated births, mourned losses, and shared what little we had. In these acts, we held on to the idea that we were more than laborers, more than property—we were a people with a past worth remembering and a future worth fighting for. The traditions we carried kept our spirits alive, even when the world around us tried to grind them into dust.

The Decision to Run: Escapes and Underground Resistance – Harriet Tubman

Escaping from slavery was never an easy choice. The risks were high—capture meant punishment, sometimes death—and the unknown lay ahead. But for many of us, the thought of living and dying in bondage was worse than any danger. I remember the first time I ran for my own freedom, heart pounding with each step, listening for the sound of pursuit. Once I crossed into free soil, I knew I could never rest until I had helped others make that same journey.

The Underground Railroad

The path to freedom was not a real railroad, but a secret network of safe houses, trusted guides, and hidden routes. We called it the Underground Railroad, and those who led the way were conductors. The stations were homes, barns, or churches where a runaway could rest and hide during the day. At night, we traveled—sometimes through forests, sometimes wading through streams to throw off the scent of the dogs. Every mile north brought us closer to safety.

Signals and Secrecy

We used signs and songs to communicate. A quilt hanging on a fence might show the pattern that meant it was safe to stop. Certain hymns carried hidden messages—when to move, where to go. Those of us guiding the runaways learned to change our routes often, to stay one step ahead of the slave catchers. Silence and secrecy were our strongest allies.

Fighting for Freedom

Not every act of resistance was a journey north. Some enslaved people stood their ground in other ways—refusing to work, breaking tools, or spreading news of resistance. Others fought with force, leading rebellions or defending themselves when threatened. Every act chipped away at the chains that held us, and every person who escaped weakened the system that depended on our labor.

Going Back for Others

For me, freedom meant nothing if I kept it to myself. I returned to the South time and again, guiding men, women, and children out of bondage. Some trips took weeks, hiding by day and moving by night. I never lost a passenger. Each successful journey reminded me that the fight for freedom was worth every risk. The Underground Railroad was not just a path north—it was proof that courage, trust, and determination could break through the strongest chains.

Free Black Life in 17th-Century America – Told by Anthony Johnson

When I gained my freedom, I stepped into a life that few Africans in Virginia had yet known. I claimed land on the Eastern Shore, planted crops, and raised livestock. My wife, Mary, who had also come from Africa, worked beside me. Together, we built a home where our children could grow without the constant threat of being sold away. The land was our proof that a man of my color could carve out a place in this colony and call it his own.

Rights and Opportunities

In those days, before the laws turned against us, free Black men and women could own property, go to court, and make contracts just as the English did. We could marry legally, pass land to our children, and hire workers to keep our farms running. I employed both African and European laborers, some under contract, others for wages. The colony was still young, and the divisions between people were not yet written into the law as they would be in the years to come.

The Contradictions of Freedom

There is no denying the truth—I, once enslaved, held servants of my own. To some, that may seem a betrayal. But in the world I lived in, labor was survival, and a man’s wealth was measured by the hands that worked his land. In this way, I was no different from my white neighbors. I judged my success by the same standards they did, even though I knew too well the pain of being bound to another’s will.

A Place in the Community

Though free, I was always aware of my color. Some white men treated me with respect, calling me “Old Tony” and seeking my word in business matters. Others saw me as an outsider, a man who did not belong among landowners. Still, I served on juries, defended my property in court, and paid my taxes like any other man. For a time, it seemed that race did not wholly decide a man’s place in Virginia.

The Shadow Ahead

I lived long enough to feel the change coming. The laws began to shift, favoring white settlers and limiting the rights of free Africans. The space in which we could live as equals grew smaller each year. What I had built was real, but I knew it would be harder for my children to keep it. Free Black life in my day was proof that we could own, work, and lead—but it was also a brief season, before the weight of racial slavery pressed down and closed the door behind us.

Legacy of the Transatlantic Slave Trade – Discussed by All Four

The Scars on Africa – Queen Nzinga

When I think on the years of struggle, I see the wounds the trade left on my homeland. Kingdoms that once thrived through farming, crafts, and local trade were torn apart. Generations of our strongest men and women were carried away, leaving villages weakened and families broken. Rivalries were deepened as some leaders sold their enemies for guns and goods, feeding a fire that could not be put out. These losses cannot be counted in numbers alone—they live on in the disruption of our traditions, the dispersal of our people, and the shadow it cast over our future.

The Displacement of a People – Olaudah Equiano

I am living proof of what it means to be taken from one world and forced into another. We were scattered across oceans, separated from our languages, our families, and our ways of life. In the Americas, we were told to forget who we were, yet we carried pieces of our homeland in our songs, our cooking, and our faith. The trade did not only move bodies—it tried to reshape minds and erase identities. But even in bondage, we found ways to keep our heritage alive, and those roots still grow in the cultures of today.

The Turning Point in Law – Anthony Johnson

In my lifetime, I saw how the law could change the course of a man’s life. My case against John Casor showed how the colonies could turn a system of labor into a system of lifetime bondage. That turning point in Virginia was only one link in a chain, but it showed how laws could be shaped to favor power over justice. The legacy of the trade is not only in the ships and plantations—it is in the legal systems and practices that kept certain people free and others bound.

The Burden of Precedent – John Casor

My own life became part of that chain, not because of the fields I worked or the hands I served, but because of a court ruling that took my freedom away forever. That decision was part of the shift toward making slavery permanent and tied to race. Long after my bones are gone, such laws echo in the ways people are treated differently based on the color of their skin. The past is not past when its rules still shape the present.

The Weight on the Americas – Harriet Tubman

In the Americas, the trade built great wealth, but it did so on broken backs. Plantations thrived, cities grew, and industries flourished, all because of the free labor stolen from enslaved people. Yet the cost was paid in suffering—families torn apart, lives cut short, and generations born into chains. That history still shapes life today. The poverty, inequality, and racial divisions we see did not appear by chance—they are the long shadows of slavery. Remembering this truth is the first step toward healing.

The Chains on the Conscience – William Wilberforce

In Europe, the profits of the trade were woven into the fabric of society. Ports, banks, and factories grew rich, and many chose not to see the cruelty that made it possible. Even after abolition, the legacies of this wealth remained, while the people who had suffered gained little in return. It is a moral lesson for all time—that a nation may prosper outwardly while rotting inwardly if it builds its fortune on injustice. The history of the trade demands that we measure success not only by profit, but by the humanity of the hands that earn it.

Why the Story Must Be Told – All Together

We speak from different times and places, but our message is one. The transatlantic slave trade was more than a chapter in history—it was a force that shaped the modern world. It changed Africa, the Americas, and Europe in ways that still touch lives today. It taught us that wealth without justice corrodes the soul, that power without mercy destroys communities, and that the human spirit can endure even the harshest chains. To forget this history is to invite its shadows to return. To remember it is to honor those who endured, to learn from the wounds, and to build a future where no one’s freedom can be taken for another’s gain.