by Emily Nadal
When remnants of New York City’s African Burial Ground resurfaced nearly thirty years ago, a slew of controversy and issues arose. No longer the small colonial city that once bolstered the title of the nation’s first capital, the powerful empire state had to come face to face with a shameful history once thought to be, quite literally, buried.
When the General Services Administration (GSA) first set out to begin construction on a new federal building in 1989, it was not necessarily a secret that the land had previously been used as a burial ground for New York’s enslaved African population. But that was centuries ago. The thought was that there probably wasn’t much left of it by then. The building was to be in Manhattan’s downtown neighborhood of Tribeca, which had seen its fair share of development throughout the decades. Though contractors believed they would find some sort of evidence of the burial ground, the real surprise came when they found hundreds of mostly intact human remains.
419 to be exact.
With each excavation, the fate of the federal building became more dire. What was intended to be a quiet, quick removal of the remains shifted into a showdown between the public and the federal government. Following the leak of information regarding the unearthing of the remains, a community of advocates began rallying behind the idea of preserving the space, and for the excavation to cease, so the graves would not be disturbed further. There was news of initial mishandling of bones at the excavation site – blatant disrespect for the people buried there. This sparked outrage in many all across the globe. It raised the question: would a “European” cemetery get the same treatment?
Though outlawing slavery in 1827, thirty-four years before the start of the Civil War, the residents of 18th century New York were avid participants in the practice. Importing nearly as many enslaved Africans as Charleston, South Carolina, by the height of slavery, roughly 20% of New York’s population was of African descent. Though the British are not responsible for initially bringing enslaved Africans to the island (that was the Dutch), they did perpetuate it. And they can be held responsible for the existence of the African burial ground.
When the British seized Manhattan island from the Dutch in 1664, a new era began. In this era, enslaved Africans, or any person of color, was no longer allowed to be buried within the city limits. At that time, the northern boundary of the city was about where Wall Street is today, which confined the area of “New York” to about a one mile radius. Forced out of “New York” proper for their burial ceremonies, enslaved Africans made their way about a mile north to an undeveloped plot of land where they could lay their loved ones to rest.
Much of the information about the burial ground comes from second-hand analysis. There are no records of the burial ground, no historical designations, nor any other forms of identity of the people buried there. All we know is that by 1790, usage of the burial ground would begin to cease because the city was expanding. At this point, America was still a fairly new country, coming to terms with her independence while simultaneously holding a good portion of the population in captivity. New York grew bigger and development took place right on top of the burial ground. By then, there was estimated to be between 15,000 and 20,000 remains buried within a 6.6 acre stretch of land.
As New York continued to assert its dominance as a powerful city, it became easier to forget its history. Coming into a new identity of a city of hope for thousands of immigrants around the world, a place where opportunities are sought and dreams are made, New York became more closely aligned with freedom than with captivity. The many descendants of the people who built the city were often pushed out of their homes to make space for a thriving upper class, a predominantly white population (re: Seneca Village, the largely African-American community displaced and destroyed in the mid 1800s to construct Central Park). An all too familiar story of displacement, and later, gentrification. New York never made a home for its large black population, despite relying on their ancestors to build it.
By 1993, after two years of excavation and countless negotiations with the GSA and other government agencies, removal of the remains at the site of the burial ground would halt. The 419 excavated remains were sent to Howard University in Washington D.C. to be extensively studied, which took about a decade. A compromise was also enacted–the federal building would still be erected, on the condition that one acre of land would be set aside for the placement of a memorial, as well as a reinterment site for the remains, which eventually returned in 2003. Additionally, the first floor of the building would house a visitor center. It would serve as an educational exhibition space centering the history of the burial ground and slavery in New York. Without the civic engagement of the public, the burial ground could have been reduced to a mere plaque.
On February 27, 2006, President George W. Bush declared the site a National Monument. It’s the first National Monument dedicated to Africans of early New York and Americans of African descent. This was a victory for many.
Finally, the city would be giving due credit to a population that had long been silenced. Managed by the National Park Service today, the burial ground is a stark reminder of our city roots . Though the African Burial Ground is not visited nearly as much as some other sites, such as The Statue of Liberty, its presence is an example of perseverance and a call to remember our past.
The symbol adopted by the site is a Sankofa, displayed on the face of the twenty-foot memorial outside and all throughout the visitor center. The Ghanian Sankofa’s translation is “look to the past to inform your future.” The symbol validates the necessary existence of the monument. In order to understand where we’re headed, we must come to terms with where we’ve been, even if looking back means facing uncomfortable truths.
Emily Nadal is a native New Yorker and senior at NYU majoring in psychology. She enjoys writing non-fiction but sometimes dabbles in the fiction world when she dreams up weird plot lines. She is fueled by lots of coffee and funny memes. In her free time, she hardcore binges on podcasts.