Rethinking the end of the commercial rice industry

I ran across this informative article that introduces us to new, mysterious full-color video of African-American men and women reaping rice with sickles in the Lowcountry.

Watch the video and read the full article by reporter Hanna Raskin in The Post and Courier.

From The Post and Courier's July 20, 2016 article "Home movie from the 1940s captures traditional reaping methods at Willtown Bluff"
From The Post and Courier’s July 20, 2016 article “Home movie from the 1940s captures traditional reaping methods at Willtown Bluff”

Historians have described the commercial rice industry ending in the 1890’s as a result of a series of devastating hurricanes. After the Civil War, freed Blacks’ refusal to do “muck work” made repairing the hydraulic irrigation system on which the industry depended (and which was little used during the last years of the war) difficult if not impossible.

New evidence, including this video from Colleton County, should cause us to rethink this position. Commercial rice production may well have continued into the second half of the 20th century and with a free Black labor force. There are many examples of free Black families throughout the Lowcountry growing rice in their farms for consumption into the mid-20th century as well.

What are your thoughts?

My Beginning: Part 4

Editor’s Note: This is the final of four posts where Requiem For Rice Producer and Librettist Dr. Edda L. Fields-Black shares with us how the quest to dig deeper into her own family lineage began. This is the journey that helped to shape the Requiem For Rice.

Determined not to weep in front of the class, I spoke very slowly and took long pauses when I felt my voice breaking up.  I told them there were many African-Americans with the last name Fields, not all were from South Carolina.  Not all African-Americans with the surname Fields were from Colleton County, SC.  But, those of us whose ancestors are buried on Myrtle Grove, Smithfield, and Cockfield plantations were one family, my father’s family.  I was very proud to be descended from them.  I was shocked to learn Ambrose Gonzales, whose work unfortunately defined what Gullah meant for so many in the early twentieth century and still appeared in academic debates on Gullah language and identity, had written his racist theories essentially about our family.  He put his despicable thoughts into my ancestors’ mouths.  Gonzales was certainly a product of his time, despicable times.  Those were his shortcomings, not ours.  The air was thick with disbelief as my wide-eyed students hung on my words.  Then, we moved on and discussed the reading.

After my students and I deconstructed Gonzales, I spontaneously flipped the classroom.  I had forewarned the students they would read aloud from Gullah language texts, but promised that I would not subject them to reading Gonzales’ folktales.  I had planned for them to read from Lorenzo Dow Turner‘s study, the first scientific study of the Gullah language.  Instead, I decided that I would read from Gonzales.  It took some of the power away from his incantations.   I knew the dialogue which he put into the mouths of former slaves from Myrtle Grove plantation was a product of his untrustworthy memory and wild imaginings.  Strangely, though, I felt the familiarity of Anna Richards Frazier, my late great grand-mother, and Jim and Mamie Fields, my late grandparents who first introduced me to the Gullah language and culture.  I felt the warmth of my Cousin Katie (Mother Gillard) who, at 105 years young, keeps the Gullah language alive for and in me.

The irony was not lost on me, the expert on the history of West African rice farmers and enslaved Africans on Lowcountry rice plantations finding her ancestors buried on a rice plantation.

My own family is emblematic of the exploitation, neglect, shame, and loss which are the legacy of enslavement. It is carried by the descendants of Africans enslaved on rice plantations in the South Carolina, Georgia, and North Carolina rice plantations, sugar, cotton, tobacco, and indigo plantations throughout the New World.

To memorialize and lament the sacrifices and sufferings of Africans enslaved on Lowcountry rice plantations, to celebrate the innumerable contributions to the economy of the US South, and to tell our ancestors’ stories, we need a “Requiem for Rice.”