April 4, 2025 • 35 mins
In this powerful episode, Freedom in July, we explore the meaning of emancipation in St. Eustatius. Through oral history, music, ritual, and memory, we uncover how freedom was celebrated, mourned, and redefined by women who shaped a new world from the ashes of bondage. From red ribbons and flamboyant flowers to the rise of education and migration, this episode traces the legacy of resistance and quiet revolutions. With voices like Governor Lady Alida Francis and Mr. Richardson, we remember how the enslaved reclaimed dignity—not through reparations, but through presence. What does it mean to be free when freedom came with nothing but a proclamation?
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>>
The whole story that took place on the day of the
(00:02):
emancipation. How people were dressed, they were mainly in
white, and they all had a piece of red
somewhere adorned women, a red ribbon around
the waist, and the men had a red ribbon around their hat.
And that was for the freedom, the sign of freedom.
>> Unidentified (Podcast Host) (00:20):
Welcome to Whispers of the Past. I'm, um, your host, V.
De Witz. And this is Freedom in July.
In this episode, we turn to the years
1850 to 1900, with a
focus on 1863, a
date etched into the history of the Dutch Caribbean
as the year slavery was formally
abolished. But emancipation
(00:42):
on paper did not mean liberation in life.
Across the Caribbean. Formerly enslaved people
stepped into the new no
land, no compensation,
no real support. And yet,
in the absence of justice, they build something
else. What does it mean to
(01:02):
be free when freedom arrives
empty handed? What does
liberation look like when it comes not from moral
reckoning, but through legal systems by those
who never fully acknowledge that slavery is a
crime against humanity?
On syntastatias, the answers
echoed in rhythms and rituals.
(01:25):
Bottles knocked in defiance, ribbons
tied in red, songs
sung by women who had waited too long to be
seen. In this episode,
we explore what came after emancipation.
Not just the loss, but the legacy.
Through memory, migration and quiet
revolution, station women helped shape the
(01:47):
freedom of their own making.
But before we arrive in
1863, we must understand what
came before. Because for enslaved women,
especially mothers, the fight for freedom
began long before it was ever declared.
Their resistance often took place not on the
battlefield, but in the home, in the
(02:09):
desperate effort to hold onto their children, their
dignity, and their futures. To
begin, historian Dr. Elaine offers us a
regional overview and sheds light on the
emotional aftermath of slavery and the enduring
strength of those who endured it.
>> Dr. Elaine (02:31):
Some imperial systems had stricter
laws about mother and child
separation than others. Right? So,
you know, it wasn't uniform across time and
space, this practice of mother and child
separation. But I will say, like even in the French
Caribbean, where it was technically
illegal to separate mothers and
(02:53):
children, at least during the period that I
study, probably in earlier periods as well, it was very
common for. For slaveholders to
sort of not sell children
away from their mothers, but to give them away
sort of informally so that they could evade
detection by the law. So there were
(03:13):
ways in which mothers and children were separated even when
they weren't technically supposed to be legally.
If we read archival documents carefully, we can actually
learn quite a bit about enslaved
people's, you know, emotional inner world
and the relationships they had with each other.
And that includes relationships between mothers and
(03:34):
Children. We know that in most slave
societies, women fought very hard
to spare their children from slavery.
So I was looking at some documents
pertaining to a woman named Sophie Lite,
who was born in Martinique but was living in
Trinidad in 1847, at which
point slavery had been abolished in the British colonies,
(03:56):
but not the French. Lite appealed to
the British Crown for help freeing her children, whom she
alleged were being held, uh, in slavery
illegally in Martinique. This is just one
example of many stories from across the Caribbean of
women trying to pursue legal means of freeing their children
from slavery. And in Li Tay's case, the
government actually, uh, declined to help
(04:19):
her. But every so often, we do find
instances of the law intervening on
enslaved mothers behalves,
um, also enslaved or formerly enslaved
women sometimes tried to buy their children's
freedom. So in the French Caribbean, this practice was
called rasha, or redemption.
So women would buy
(04:42):
their freedom or their children's freedom from
slaveholders. In many slave societies,
women could sometimes earn a small
income by selling fruits and vegetables and other
goods. They grew on small plots of land,
and in some cases, they were able to use this money,
save it up, and then purchase themselves or their
children. And then finally, in many
(05:03):
different slave societies, we find records of enslaved
women complaining to local authorities about the ill
treatment of their children. For example, I have looked
at records from the French Caribbean that show
enslaved women lodging complaints against slave owners
for physically harming their children or for not
providing their children with enough food and clothing.
And we can find similar records in other parts of the
(05:26):
Caribbean as well, especially during the latter decades of
slavery, during which time there existed more of a
legal infrastructure to support
slaves claims against
owners.
>> Unidentified (Podcast Host) (05:41):
For enslaved mothers across the
Caribbean, separation from their children was one of the most
profound and enduring forms of trauma.
Laws varied between empires. Even when
protection technically existed, like in the French
colonies, it was common for enslavers to exploit
loopholes and informally remove children from their
(06:01):
mother's care. In the Dutch
Caribbean, archival records are still limited.
One rare example comes from Curacao, where an
enslaved woman named Virginie challenged the colonial
authorities for. For her freedom and that of her
children. Her successful legal fight
is one of the few documented cases where an enslaved
(06:22):
mother confronted the Dutch state and
won. Stories like
Virginie's suggest there may be many more hidden acts
of resistance within the Dutch Caribbean.
Those stories are yet to be uncovered.
Further research, particularly through oral history
and neglected archives, may reveal the depth of
these struggles. But even now, the
(06:44):
emotional legacy is clear. The forced
rupture of families inflicted deep psychological
Wounds. Wounds that echo across generations.
And then came emancipation. In
1863, the Dutch government finally
abolished slavery, but only after securing
compensations for the slave owners, not
(07:05):
for the enslaved. Those who had endured
lifetime of suffering were given nothing. No
land, no wages, no resources.
And many were forced to keep working on their
exploitive contracts. And some, seeking
better opportunities, began to leave the islands
altogether.
(07:26):
On, uh, Cintostatius, where slavery had also
ended, emancipation brought hardship instead
of celebration. As Mrs.
Sutakao, a long term resident and one of the
founders of the center for Archaeological Research,
explains, this was a moment when
Stacia would have been rising. Instead
it fell into economic decline.
(07:47):
Freed people had few options and little
support. Former slaveholders abandoned
their plantation, leaving behind a community that's
free in name, but struggling to, to
survive.
>> Ms. Sutekau (08:01):
Well, the Dutch were very late in
abolishing slavery. They were really forced into
it because of St. Martin, because in St.
Martin on the French side, they were free. So it was
easy for them to get to the French side or to
Anguilla be free.
So the Dutch government agreed to the
abolishment of slavery only out of
(08:23):
necessity. They really didn't have a choice.
But instead of rewarding the slaves
that were being abolished, they actually
compensated the slave owners for
abolishing slavery. It's a
deplorable fact that
the people who were actually enslaving them
(08:45):
made more from it than the slaves themselves,
who were suddenly set free with no
income. So what did they have to do? They had to work for
the same people at uh, much
decreased wages or try to
find something else to do. But
instead of standing around, same slave
owners left the island
(09:07):
because they didn't have the
workers to produce the crops that they
needed. And they began to desert the
plantations. Dacia
went into great decline at the
very time it should have been
celebrating and expanding itself,
because now our people were free,
(09:31):
but their opportunities here
were very limited.
>> Unidentified (Podcast Host) (09:39):
The abolition of slavery in Dutch Caribbean came
not as a triumph of morality, but as a reluctant
response to mounting pressure, especially from
neighboring islands like the French side of St
Martin, where freedom had already been taken.
As Mrs. Tsutakai reminds us, emancipation
did not come with reparation for the formerly enslaved.
(09:59):
Instead, compensation flowed to the former
slaveholders, while those who actually
endured generation of bondage were left without
land, income or any real
opportunity. And yet,
in the face of injustice and abandonment, something
remarkable unfolded.
Across Interstatius, the spirit of liberation
(10:21):
stirred not only quiet resilience, but public
defiance, led in many cases by women
whose name may be lost to History,
but whose voices carry through the street on the
first Emancipation Day. To
guide us deeper into that moment, we turn to the
island Heritage Inspector, Mr.
(10:41):
Richardson, who brings to life the powerful
and unexpected ways this day was
claimed, not by decree, but by the
people themselves.
>> Mr. Richardson (10:53):
So it's July 1, 1863. That's when
slavery was abolished. And then again, you
see, ah, there's a huge demographical shift on the island
of people. There are formerly enslaved people that
became Methodists through the preachings of Black
Harry.
>> Unidentified (Podcast Host) (11:10):
In the years before emancipation, the seed of
spiritual resistance were already taken roots across the
Caribbean. And on Syntastacia's, one
voice rose above the rest. His name
was Black Harry. His real name,
birthplace and date of death remain unknown.
To clear up any confusion, around the same time in
(11:31):
the United States, another African American
Methodist preacher named Harry Hozier was
also known as Black Harry. And though the parallels
in their lives are very striking, historians
have agreed that they are not the same person.
Black Harry on Sintostatius left behind a legacy
that was uniquely one of
(11:52):
defiance and spiritual awakening. He
arrived on the island as a free man of color in the late
1700s, during a time where enslaved
people were forbidden to gather for worship.
Yet Harry preached anyway, his
sermons full of fire, hope and uncompromising
truth. He drew crowds, stirred
hearts and offered strength to those still in
(12:14):
bondage. Colonial authorities
quickly saw his influence as
dangerous. He was banned from preaching,
he was punished and ultimately he was exiled
from the island. But his message could not be
silenced. Today, his legacy lives
on in the Bethel Methodist Church and on Black
Harry Lane, named in his honour. His
(12:36):
story is not just about faith, but it's about resistance
and the power of one voice to move people.
It's no surprise then that by the time
emancipation finally arrived in
1863, spiritual conviction and
community resilience were already woven into the fabric
of the island. And as
Heritage Inspector Mr. Richardson
(12:58):
explains, something extraordinary emerged on the
first Emancipation Day.
>> Mr. Richardson (13:06):
There's a large group of people on the island that
are non religious, and that's an interesting
group because this is a group now that lives in what they call the north
of the island. It's not geographically the north, but it's referred to as
the north. You, uh, know, as they would say locally.
And what you see is that it's still
called the north, actually. And to show you how
(13:26):
people are proud of the north, you, um,
remember recently we got our first female governor,
Ms. Alida Francis, and she was also referred to as
the girl from the North. And remember that the
north is going to be a very part of the station colloquial
landscape and cultural landscape. So
it's July 1st, 1863. The governor at the time
(13:47):
is Governor Rose Van Toningen. And he
reads the proclamation in the Bethel Methodist Church in the
morning at around 7 that people are free
and everyone is
thanking God. Um, those are those that
have been converted to Methodism and also the Dutch
Reformed Church. So it's really interesting because now inside of the
church you have the kind of white
(14:10):
station population and the black station population all
sitting together. But
from the north there's a disturbance,
there's a loud drumming and there's a
chant and people are waving red
flowers in the air. And you can guess
who that was being led by. It was being led by
women. The women were
(14:33):
knocking bottles together, you know, to
create some kind of symphony. And the men were
drumming behind and the women were the ones doing the
singing. And they were singing very
loud. Happy, happy July day I
don't give a damn what the masters say I'm free, I'm free, I'm free
today Humbug, can't humbug me. So there's a whole chant
(14:53):
that these. And they're coming from way out in the
countryside and they're matching all the
way into town, showing that they're free. They're
not religious either. They don't belong to any church, which is
also interesting. And what makes it interesting
is that though in the former
slave registers they were labeled as Protestants. They were
(15:14):
not. They weren't baptized. And that you had
that on station for a long time. And you see that
these women now are chanting, coming through the streets. The
governor writes, writes it in his letter to the Hague describing
how the day went. And you see that they are
really. These women are going to become the
instigators of everything that's going to become. Because out
(15:34):
of the north, as they say, that's where
the power. And you would see that
eventually, as we get into the 20th and the 21st
century, um, where that
Northness then will then come back in the
empowerment of a lot of women on Sint Eustace,
or women of color of the island in general.
And you would see why people are proud of that because
(15:56):
also to note that Mama, um,
Didier, um, Francis Coffey, they're all
also from the north. So they're not from what is called
down street or the South. They're all women from the North.
So the north was always the fighting force of
defying slavery.
>> Unidentified (Podcast Host) (16:16):
Freedom on Cint Eustatius did not arrive in
silence. It came with rhythm of bottles and
drums. As Mr. Richardson reminds
us, it was the women from the north who led the
charge, singing through the streets, red
flowers in hand, declaring themselves free
in a world that had long refused to see their
humanity. Though
(16:38):
listed as protestant in the old slave
registers, many of these women belonged to no
church. Their resistance wasn't
shaped by doctrine. It was born of lived
experience, ancestral strength, and the
refusal to be defined by colonial
categories. But
emancipation was more than a moment.
(16:59):
It became a memory passed down through
generations. And in these
stories, we find details history often
overlooks. Governor lady alida
Frances, a daughter of the north,
carries these memories not only as a leader,
but as a descendant of those who once sang
freedom into being.
>>
The whole story that took place on the
day of the emancipation, how people were dressed, you
know, you learned that they were dressed mainly in white,
and they all had a piece of red
somewhere adorned on there. The women,
the red ribbon, I heard, I was told, around the waist. And the men
had a red ribbon around their hat, and
(17:43):
that was for the freedom, the sign of freedom. They dance
with what we call the july flower, known
as the flamboyant flower. So there are
stories still that, uh, are
alive, but they're hidden away.
>> Unidentified (Podcast Host) (18:00):
On syntastacia. Stories of emancipation
have long been held not only in records, but in
memory, passed down through families, preserved in
song and marked by ritual. Governor
lady alida Frances recalls the details that
oral tradition never forgot. White
garments adorned with red, the july flower clutched
in hand, and the quiet pride stitched into every
(18:23):
ribbon. These symbols of freedom were
not random. Red ribbons, flamboyant
blossom, the colors of joy and resistance worn
with intention. But memory
doesn't only live in official ceremonies.
It breathes through folklore,
those stories whispered from one generation
(18:43):
to the next, shaped as much by feeling
as by fact. Dr.
Sahidi, an archaeologist who lived and
worked on the island, shared one such story.
Whether it happened exactly as told is beside
the point. What matters is what it
means and how its symbolism
(19:04):
still pulses through the island's collective
identity.
>> Dr. Sahidi (19:09):
One of the most powerful ones. For me.
There's a story that's told often on Stacia, and
that is the story of emancipation Day on July
1, 1863, when the
newly emancipated took their blue beads and they
threw them from the cliffs into the sea.
(19:29):
And when you picture that in your mind, you can kind of
envision people throwing the beads from the cliffs,
and you can feel that power, that emotion and that
resistance and that subversive
action symbolize so much. And it still does,
you know, it's still entangled with the way that
people on St. Eustatius
(19:50):
view their ancestors, but also how they view
themselves.
>> Unidentified (Podcast Host) (19:53):
It's.
>> Dr. Sahidi (19:56):
Peaceful and steady, but really
strong. And that story, I think, is such a
powerful statement about colonialism and anti
colonialism. And that memory is held so
closely by people today,
I think not just because of its historical
importance, but because that
spirit of resistance and self
(20:19):
agency is still very much entangled in the
contemporary lives of people, people on the island. It's still
relevant.
>> Unidentified (Podcast Host) (20:28):
The image of blue beads cast into the
sea, free falling from the cliffs, like
a final farewell to bondage, reminds us
that liberation is not just about breaking away.
It's also about what comes next.
And in the years that followed, the spirit of self
determination did not fade. It evolved
quietly, steadily, into a new form
(20:51):
of resistance and renewal. By the
late 19th century, another kind of
transformation began to unfold. This
time not through revolt, but through
rebuilding this new present. On the
island were the Dominican sisters. They
arrived from Europe not just as missionaries, but
as educators, caretakers and community
(21:12):
builders. Part of the century old Dominican
order, founded in 1216 and grounded in
study, service, prayer and community,
Their mission on Stacia took root in deeply
practical ways. As Mr.
Richardson reflect, their work became more
than religious instruction. The sisters helped
raise classrooms from stone, trained the
(21:35):
island's first local teachers, and supported
women in shaping the social fabric of the community.
The same hands that once carried red flowers
in celebration now lifted building blocks of
schools, churches and possibilities.
Holy preaching wasn't always done in words.
It was seen in actions. And this was
(21:56):
a different kind of resistance rooted in
care, education and quiet
empowerment.
>> Mr. Richardson (22:05):
Yeah, so the Dominican sisters, they came in
around the late 1890s, I think, to the
island. Um, they had an interesting
service of about 99 years on
stage. That's a long time. And quite recently one of
the last sisters died, I think last year in the
Netherlands. She returned, uh, many years after. She was also one of
the first, um, teachers of the Catholic school.
(22:28):
But the Dominican nuns, they come in the time that there's not
an established Catholic church. Uh, what
is a beautiful story of someone. I grew up in
the Catholic Church, so what I do know about
the role of the women's club,
um, this is something that was started, of course, you're now there
are these European nuns, um, coming
(22:48):
from already established Europe to a
small Caribbean island as missionaries, but then
realize that their work are so in depth,
uh, more in depth than missionaries, and
guess who become the pillars of society
also because of working with these Dominican nuns. It's the
station women. They are more than just
converts through Catholicism. They are really
(23:11):
the spearhead of the community, of the social
structure of the community, the welfare of the
community, together with these nuns. So you
see that the women kind of band together to
kind of formalize themselves now together with these nuns
and the nuns, then, you know, they start. One
thing that was instrumental is the building of the current
(23:31):
Catholic Church. There are pictures and documents
of women bringing the blocks up
the slave path. Um, not men,
the men were the stonemasons, but the
women as parishioners brought the stones up the
bay path as we know it. And it's quite steep and it's something
that they were very proud of. So you see that the resilience
(23:52):
of the women are now like, hey, I'm a woman
but I'm not feeble. And you see that in this
mixture of the Dominican nuns, you see also
that music starts to play a huge
role. Not only music, as in the song
and dance that Stacia is known for, but the structural
learning of music. They also started
(24:12):
a school here and many of the. You would see the
first teachers or the first
kindergarten teachers of Fort Peutuschol.
It's interesting. They get their teaching from these
Dominican nuns and get their
qualifications to teach on the island from these
Dominican nuns and not even from an institution in
Europe. So you see that the nun. The Dominican nuns
(24:35):
on the island don't only
install religion,
they kind of install kind of freedom
and entrepreneurship. And then you see
that out of the Dominican nuns a lot of structures
start to go in place. Women start to really lead
the society in different locations. And you see that
the influence of the Dominican nuns and the establishment of the
(24:58):
school isn't even only for Catholics,
but it's also for the Methodists on the island. The Dutch reform
basically for everyone. And you see that
there's a period of kind of, I would say
peaceful unity because you also see it in governing
letters and at the time. And these Dominican
nuns were really instrumental in the
(25:18):
current position of women
today and also the fight for women today.
And you would see that this early installment
of the Dominican nuns on the island and
that 99 year long reign is going
to produce a lot of strong
willed women who eventually
are the grandparents and parents of many of the
(25:41):
stations here today. And it's all because of
that influence of that period between
1890 onwards.
>> Unidentified (Podcast Host) (25:51):
Mr. Richardson reminds us the Dominican
sisters arrived not only with scripture, but with
structure. Their Mission rooted in
education and community service, wove new
threads into the social fabrics of post
emancipation stacia.
With them, island women built more than
churches and schools. They cultivated
(26:13):
leadership, kinship and quiet
revolutions of care.
But the path forward for Caribbean women did not follow a
single course. While some found purpose in
new institutions, other charted different
routes out of necessity, resistance
or survival. As
Dr. Elaine explains, across the region, many women
(26:35):
chose not to return to the same fields that once exploited
them. The end of slavery did not mean the end
of struggle. It did open the door for
women to redefine their roles in ways that
powerfully shaped the the post emancipation
Caribbean.
>> Dr. Elaine (26:53):
In the sort of years following slavery.
In the British Caribbean, historians
have documented that a lot of women actually
left plantation labor. So they
decided that they simply were not going to work on
plantations anymore for a wage. They were
going to grow their own crops for
sale and whatnot. This caused a major
(27:16):
panic among plantation owners, right, because they needed
the women's labor. Generally
speaking, though, across the Caribbean, the
majority of women continued to work as
plantation laborers. So in the French Caribbean,
for instance, um, some women, field work,
but most, because of a lack of
available land, had to continue working on
(27:38):
plantations. Some historians have
thought of women's retreat from the fields as
a sort of, um, retreat into
domesticity, as a sort of like
attempt to become proper women
in a sort of European sense of the term
proper womanhood. But I think the more likely
explanation is that field labor was
(28:01):
simply horrendously, uh, hard on the
body, extreme, extremely taxing in
all sorts of different ways. And women just didn't,
as much as possible, didn't want to be subject to
the kind of abuse that took place on
plantation.
>> Unidentified (Podcast Host) (28:20):
Their refusal to return to the fields was more than a
practical decision. It was a statement, a
rejection of a system that had long devalued their
bodies, their time and their freedom.
In choosing to step away, Caribbean women began
to redefine what work and what worth could mean in
a new world still shaped by the old one.
>> Dr. Elaine (28:43):
So, you know, women were obviously really, really
important members of their societies. After
the abolition of slavery, you know,
there's been a lot of discussion about
the phenomenon of matrifocal m
households. So this idea that sort
of during slavery and after slavery, women were
(29:04):
the heads of households and men weren't really
involved. And I think that that has been
exaggerated to some degree. And
in fact, men of African descent very
often were very involved in their children's lives.
And, uh, you know, so we don't want to exaggerate the extent to
which households were matrifocal. But at the same
time, it is true that, you know, women took a primary
(29:27):
role in raising children. They often were heads
of household, and they. They were, you know, often very
respected members of their communities. I don't want to
downplay, you know, misogyny and patriarchy,
but, um, you know, we definitely
have lots of evidence of. Of women of African descent across the
Caribbean sort of not playing the role of
(29:47):
demure little housewife, right? Of being sort of
in. Out in public and sort of having some. Quite
a bit of authority in their cultures. And, you know,
they weren't necessarily seen as respectable in the
eyes of Europeans, right? Or in the eyes of elite people of
African descent, um, they weren't necessarily seen as
demure staying inside the house. They.
They sort of enacted their own vision of
(30:09):
womanhood in a lot of different ways. And,
you know, sometimes they did take part in
labor militancy. In 1870,
in Martinique, there was a major uprising.
A lot of plantations were burnt by
field workers. It was very violent, and
women played a part in that. And one of them was named
(30:30):
Lumina, or her nickname was
Suplease, and she was actually hanged for
her involvement in this rebellion. There
are myriad examples of
women taking part in that kind of
rebellious, militant activity in the period
following slavery.
>> Unidentified (Podcast Host) (30:49):
Across the Caribbean. As Dr. Elaine reminds us,
women were not retreating into the shadows. They were
reshaping society on their own terms.
Choosing not to return to the fields was not just about
labor. It was about reclaiming ownership of their
time, their bodies, and their future.
But unfortunately, emancipation had
(31:10):
not leveled the playing field. The end of
slavery did not come with land, wages, or
justice. It came with absence.
Absence of support, absence of
infrastructure, of the very promises
freedom should have fulfilled.
On, uh, Cintastasius, the absence became its own kind
of exodus. The plantation
(31:32):
economy crumbled, and with it,
opportunities dried up.
Families made impossible choices. Some
stayed rooted in place, while others left in
search for something more.
And so, just as women across the region found ways to resist
through presence, many stations would begin
(31:53):
to resist removement. Migration became its own
form of survival. Next,
Mrs. Tsutakao reflects on what that movement
meant, not just for those who left, but but for the
island they left behind.
>> Ms. Sutekau (32:11):
This was the beginning of the migration
of people from east Asia to other islands.
They were going to other islands. That
migration would really take off in the early
1900s as the
refineries in Curacao and other
islands and also
developed Tourism on other islands,
(32:32):
um, would offer positions and
jobs to the people of Stacia.
So the Stacia population began to
decrease greatly by our own people
as they went off island. By
the 1900, most of the people that were
left on the island were fishermen,
(32:53):
farmers, grandparents and small
children. As the, uh, young
adults, people who could make a living
elsewhere, moved either up island
to St. Thomas and Santa Croix
and places like that, or to
the Puerto Ricos and other places,
or down island to Curacao and
(33:15):
Aruba, where there were opportunities in the whale
industry. A lot of that took place right
around the 1900s.
>> Unidentified (Podcast Host) (33:25):
Freedom, when it came to the Dutch Caribbean, was not a
moment of triumph. It was a moment of reckoning.
A proclamation read out loud could not just
undo centuries of violence, Nor could it
rebuild the lives left fractured by bondage.
And yet, from the silence of abandonment rose a
new kind of resistance. Women led the
(33:46):
way, not m always with protests, but with
presence. They sank freedom into the streets,
carried stones up steep path, and taught the next
generation that dignity could not be stolen,
only reclaimed. Their
stories tucked into folklore wrapped in red ribbons.
Whispers in the voices of elders continued to carry
(34:06):
the weight of freedom still unfolding.
Because emancipation was not the end of struggle.
It was the beginning of memory. A memory
not housed in monuments, but but in
movement, not bound to paper,
but passed hand to hand, story to
story. And if freedom lives on in
(34:26):
ways we remember, then we must ask
ourselves what m truths still remain
hidden? What voices
still go unheard? And what does it
mean not just to be free,
but to stay free? In our next
episode, we step into the 20th century,
where the echoes of emancipation give rise
(34:48):
to modern times and a new form of survival.
The fight continues not in
chains, but in choices.
The whole story that took place on the day of the
(00:02):
emancipation. How people were dressed, they were mainly in
white, and they all had a piece of red
somewhere adorned women, a red ribbon around
the waist, and the men had a red ribbon around their hat.
And that was for the freedom, the sign of freedom.
>> Unidentified (Podcast Host) (00:20):
Welcome to Whispers of the Past. I'm, um, your host, V.
De Witz. And this is Freedom in July.
In this episode, we turn to the years
1850 to 1900, with a
focus on 1863, a
date etched into the history of the Dutch Caribbean
as the year slavery was formally
abolished. But emancipation
(00:42):
on paper did not mean liberation in life.
Across the Caribbean. Formerly enslaved people
stepped into the new no
land, no compensation,
no real support. And yet,
in the absence of justice, they build something
else. What does it mean to
(01:02):
be free when freedom arrives
empty handed? What does
liberation look like when it comes not from moral
reckoning, but through legal systems by those
who never fully acknowledge that slavery is a
crime against humanity?
On syntastatias, the answers
echoed in rhythms and rituals.
(01:25):
Bottles knocked in defiance, ribbons
tied in red, songs
sung by women who had waited too long to be
seen. In this episode,
we explore what came after emancipation.
Not just the loss, but the legacy.
Through memory, migration and quiet
revolution, station women helped shape the
(01:47):
freedom of their own making.
But before we arrive in
1863, we must understand what
came before. Because for enslaved women,
especially mothers, the fight for freedom
began long before it was ever declared.
Their resistance often took place not on the
battlefield, but in the home, in the
(02:09):
desperate effort to hold onto their children, their
dignity, and their futures. To
begin, historian Dr. Elaine offers us a
regional overview and sheds light on the
emotional aftermath of slavery and the enduring
strength of those who endured it.
>> Dr. Elaine (02:31):
Some imperial systems had stricter
laws about mother and child
separation than others. Right? So,
you know, it wasn't uniform across time and
space, this practice of mother and child
separation. But I will say, like even in the French
Caribbean, where it was technically
illegal to separate mothers and
(02:53):
children, at least during the period that I
study, probably in earlier periods as well, it was very
common for. For slaveholders to
sort of not sell children
away from their mothers, but to give them away
sort of informally so that they could evade
detection by the law. So there were
(03:13):
ways in which mothers and children were separated even when
they weren't technically supposed to be legally.
If we read archival documents carefully, we can actually
learn quite a bit about enslaved
people's, you know, emotional inner world
and the relationships they had with each other.
And that includes relationships between mothers and
(03:34):
Children. We know that in most slave
societies, women fought very hard
to spare their children from slavery.
So I was looking at some documents
pertaining to a woman named Sophie Lite,
who was born in Martinique but was living in
Trinidad in 1847, at which
point slavery had been abolished in the British colonies,
(03:56):
but not the French. Lite appealed to
the British Crown for help freeing her children, whom she
alleged were being held, uh, in slavery
illegally in Martinique. This is just one
example of many stories from across the Caribbean of
women trying to pursue legal means of freeing their children
from slavery. And in Li Tay's case, the
government actually, uh, declined to help
(04:19):
her. But every so often, we do find
instances of the law intervening on
enslaved mothers behalves,
um, also enslaved or formerly enslaved
women sometimes tried to buy their children's
freedom. So in the French Caribbean, this practice was
called rasha, or redemption.
So women would buy
(04:42):
their freedom or their children's freedom from
slaveholders. In many slave societies,
women could sometimes earn a small
income by selling fruits and vegetables and other
goods. They grew on small plots of land,
and in some cases, they were able to use this money,
save it up, and then purchase themselves or their
children. And then finally, in many
(05:03):
different slave societies, we find records of enslaved
women complaining to local authorities about the ill
treatment of their children. For example, I have looked
at records from the French Caribbean that show
enslaved women lodging complaints against slave owners
for physically harming their children or for not
providing their children with enough food and clothing.
And we can find similar records in other parts of the
(05:26):
Caribbean as well, especially during the latter decades of
slavery, during which time there existed more of a
legal infrastructure to support
slaves claims against
owners.
>> Unidentified (Podcast Host) (05:41):
For enslaved mothers across the
Caribbean, separation from their children was one of the most
profound and enduring forms of trauma.
Laws varied between empires. Even when
protection technically existed, like in the French
colonies, it was common for enslavers to exploit
loopholes and informally remove children from their
(06:01):
mother's care. In the Dutch
Caribbean, archival records are still limited.
One rare example comes from Curacao, where an
enslaved woman named Virginie challenged the colonial
authorities for. For her freedom and that of her
children. Her successful legal fight
is one of the few documented cases where an enslaved
(06:22):
mother confronted the Dutch state and
won. Stories like
Virginie's suggest there may be many more hidden acts
of resistance within the Dutch Caribbean.
Those stories are yet to be uncovered.
Further research, particularly through oral history
and neglected archives, may reveal the depth of
these struggles. But even now, the
(06:44):
emotional legacy is clear. The forced
rupture of families inflicted deep psychological
Wounds. Wounds that echo across generations.
And then came emancipation. In
1863, the Dutch government finally
abolished slavery, but only after securing
compensations for the slave owners, not
(07:05):
for the enslaved. Those who had endured
lifetime of suffering were given nothing. No
land, no wages, no resources.
And many were forced to keep working on their
exploitive contracts. And some, seeking
better opportunities, began to leave the islands
altogether.
(07:26):
On, uh, Cintostatius, where slavery had also
ended, emancipation brought hardship instead
of celebration. As Mrs.
Sutakao, a long term resident and one of the
founders of the center for Archaeological Research,
explains, this was a moment when
Stacia would have been rising. Instead
it fell into economic decline.
(07:47):
Freed people had few options and little
support. Former slaveholders abandoned
their plantation, leaving behind a community that's
free in name, but struggling to, to
survive.
>> Ms. Sutekau (08:01):
Well, the Dutch were very late in
abolishing slavery. They were really forced into
it because of St. Martin, because in St.
Martin on the French side, they were free. So it was
easy for them to get to the French side or to
Anguilla be free.
So the Dutch government agreed to the
abolishment of slavery only out of
(08:23):
necessity. They really didn't have a choice.
But instead of rewarding the slaves
that were being abolished, they actually
compensated the slave owners for
abolishing slavery. It's a
deplorable fact that
the people who were actually enslaving them
(08:45):
made more from it than the slaves themselves,
who were suddenly set free with no
income. So what did they have to do? They had to work for
the same people at uh, much
decreased wages or try to
find something else to do. But
instead of standing around, same slave
owners left the island
(09:07):
because they didn't have the
workers to produce the crops that they
needed. And they began to desert the
plantations. Dacia
went into great decline at the
very time it should have been
celebrating and expanding itself,
because now our people were free,
(09:31):
but their opportunities here
were very limited.
>> Unidentified (Podcast Host) (09:39):
The abolition of slavery in Dutch Caribbean came
not as a triumph of morality, but as a reluctant
response to mounting pressure, especially from
neighboring islands like the French side of St
Martin, where freedom had already been taken.
As Mrs. Tsutakai reminds us, emancipation
did not come with reparation for the formerly enslaved.
(09:59):
Instead, compensation flowed to the former
slaveholders, while those who actually
endured generation of bondage were left without
land, income or any real
opportunity. And yet,
in the face of injustice and abandonment, something
remarkable unfolded.
Across Interstatius, the spirit of liberation
(10:21):
stirred not only quiet resilience, but public
defiance, led in many cases by women
whose name may be lost to History,
but whose voices carry through the street on the
first Emancipation Day. To
guide us deeper into that moment, we turn to the
island Heritage Inspector, Mr.
(10:41):
Richardson, who brings to life the powerful
and unexpected ways this day was
claimed, not by decree, but by the
people themselves.
>> Mr. Richardson (10:53):
So it's July 1, 1863. That's when
slavery was abolished. And then again, you
see, ah, there's a huge demographical shift on the island
of people. There are formerly enslaved people that
became Methodists through the preachings of Black
Harry.
>> Unidentified (Podcast Host) (11:10):
In the years before emancipation, the seed of
spiritual resistance were already taken roots across the
Caribbean. And on Syntastacia's, one
voice rose above the rest. His name
was Black Harry. His real name,
birthplace and date of death remain unknown.
To clear up any confusion, around the same time in
(11:31):
the United States, another African American
Methodist preacher named Harry Hozier was
also known as Black Harry. And though the parallels
in their lives are very striking, historians
have agreed that they are not the same person.
Black Harry on Sintostatius left behind a legacy
that was uniquely one of
(11:52):
defiance and spiritual awakening. He
arrived on the island as a free man of color in the late
1700s, during a time where enslaved
people were forbidden to gather for worship.
Yet Harry preached anyway, his
sermons full of fire, hope and uncompromising
truth. He drew crowds, stirred
hearts and offered strength to those still in
(12:14):
bondage. Colonial authorities
quickly saw his influence as
dangerous. He was banned from preaching,
he was punished and ultimately he was exiled
from the island. But his message could not be
silenced. Today, his legacy lives
on in the Bethel Methodist Church and on Black
Harry Lane, named in his honour. His
(12:36):
story is not just about faith, but it's about resistance
and the power of one voice to move people.
It's no surprise then that by the time
emancipation finally arrived in
1863, spiritual conviction and
community resilience were already woven into the fabric
of the island. And as
Heritage Inspector Mr. Richardson
(12:58):
explains, something extraordinary emerged on the
first Emancipation Day.
>> Mr. Richardson (13:06):
There's a large group of people on the island that
are non religious, and that's an interesting
group because this is a group now that lives in what they call the north
of the island. It's not geographically the north, but it's referred to as
the north. You, uh, know, as they would say locally.
And what you see is that it's still
called the north, actually. And to show you how
(13:26):
people are proud of the north, you, um,
remember recently we got our first female governor,
Ms. Alida Francis, and she was also referred to as
the girl from the North. And remember that the
north is going to be a very part of the station colloquial
landscape and cultural landscape. So
it's July 1st, 1863. The governor at the time
(13:47):
is Governor Rose Van Toningen. And he
reads the proclamation in the Bethel Methodist Church in the
morning at around 7 that people are free
and everyone is
thanking God. Um, those are those that
have been converted to Methodism and also the Dutch
Reformed Church. So it's really interesting because now inside of the
church you have the kind of white
(14:10):
station population and the black station population all
sitting together. But
from the north there's a disturbance,
there's a loud drumming and there's a
chant and people are waving red
flowers in the air. And you can guess
who that was being led by. It was being led by
women. The women were
(14:33):
knocking bottles together, you know, to
create some kind of symphony. And the men were
drumming behind and the women were the ones doing the
singing. And they were singing very
loud. Happy, happy July day I
don't give a damn what the masters say I'm free, I'm free, I'm free
today Humbug, can't humbug me. So there's a whole chant
(14:53):
that these. And they're coming from way out in the
countryside and they're matching all the
way into town, showing that they're free. They're
not religious either. They don't belong to any church, which is
also interesting. And what makes it interesting
is that though in the former
slave registers they were labeled as Protestants. They were
(15:14):
not. They weren't baptized. And that you had
that on station for a long time. And you see that
these women now are chanting, coming through the streets. The
governor writes, writes it in his letter to the Hague describing
how the day went. And you see that they are
really. These women are going to become the
instigators of everything that's going to become. Because out
(15:34):
of the north, as they say, that's where
the power. And you would see that
eventually, as we get into the 20th and the 21st
century, um, where that
Northness then will then come back in the
empowerment of a lot of women on Sint Eustace,
or women of color of the island in general.
And you would see why people are proud of that because
(15:56):
also to note that Mama, um,
Didier, um, Francis Coffey, they're all
also from the north. So they're not from what is called
down street or the South. They're all women from the North.
So the north was always the fighting force of
defying slavery.
>> Unidentified (Podcast Host) (16:16):
Freedom on Cint Eustatius did not arrive in
silence. It came with rhythm of bottles and
drums. As Mr. Richardson reminds
us, it was the women from the north who led the
charge, singing through the streets, red
flowers in hand, declaring themselves free
in a world that had long refused to see their
humanity. Though
(16:38):
listed as protestant in the old slave
registers, many of these women belonged to no
church. Their resistance wasn't
shaped by doctrine. It was born of lived
experience, ancestral strength, and the
refusal to be defined by colonial
categories. But
emancipation was more than a moment.
(16:59):
It became a memory passed down through
generations. And in these
stories, we find details history often
overlooks. Governor lady alida
Frances, a daughter of the north,
carries these memories not only as a leader,
but as a descendant of those who once sang
freedom into being.
>>
The whole story that took place on the
day of the emancipation, how people were dressed, you
know, you learned that they were dressed mainly in white,
and they all had a piece of red
somewhere adorned on there. The women,
the red ribbon, I heard, I was told, around the waist. And the men
had a red ribbon around their hat, and
(17:43):
that was for the freedom, the sign of freedom. They dance
with what we call the july flower, known
as the flamboyant flower. So there are
stories still that, uh, are
alive, but they're hidden away.
>> Unidentified (Podcast Host) (18:00):
On syntastacia. Stories of emancipation
have long been held not only in records, but in
memory, passed down through families, preserved in
song and marked by ritual. Governor
lady alida Frances recalls the details that
oral tradition never forgot. White
garments adorned with red, the july flower clutched
in hand, and the quiet pride stitched into every
(18:23):
ribbon. These symbols of freedom were
not random. Red ribbons, flamboyant
blossom, the colors of joy and resistance worn
with intention. But memory
doesn't only live in official ceremonies.
It breathes through folklore,
those stories whispered from one generation
(18:43):
to the next, shaped as much by feeling
as by fact. Dr.
Sahidi, an archaeologist who lived and
worked on the island, shared one such story.
Whether it happened exactly as told is beside
the point. What matters is what it
means and how its symbolism
(19:04):
still pulses through the island's collective
identity.
>> Dr. Sahidi (19:09):
One of the most powerful ones. For me.
There's a story that's told often on Stacia, and
that is the story of emancipation Day on July
1, 1863, when the
newly emancipated took their blue beads and they
threw them from the cliffs into the sea.
(19:29):
And when you picture that in your mind, you can kind of
envision people throwing the beads from the cliffs,
and you can feel that power, that emotion and that
resistance and that subversive
action symbolize so much. And it still does,
you know, it's still entangled with the way that
people on St. Eustatius
(19:50):
view their ancestors, but also how they view
themselves.
>> Unidentified (Podcast Host) (19:53):
It's.
>> Dr. Sahidi (19:56):
Peaceful and steady, but really
strong. And that story, I think, is such a
powerful statement about colonialism and anti
colonialism. And that memory is held so
closely by people today,
I think not just because of its historical
importance, but because that
spirit of resistance and self
(20:19):
agency is still very much entangled in the
contemporary lives of people, people on the island. It's still
relevant.
>> Unidentified (Podcast Host) (20:28):
The image of blue beads cast into the
sea, free falling from the cliffs, like
a final farewell to bondage, reminds us
that liberation is not just about breaking away.
It's also about what comes next.
And in the years that followed, the spirit of self
determination did not fade. It evolved
quietly, steadily, into a new form
(20:51):
of resistance and renewal. By the
late 19th century, another kind of
transformation began to unfold. This
time not through revolt, but through
rebuilding this new present. On the
island were the Dominican sisters. They
arrived from Europe not just as missionaries, but
as educators, caretakers and community
(21:12):
builders. Part of the century old Dominican
order, founded in 1216 and grounded in
study, service, prayer and community,
Their mission on Stacia took root in deeply
practical ways. As Mr.
Richardson reflect, their work became more
than religious instruction. The sisters helped
raise classrooms from stone, trained the
(21:35):
island's first local teachers, and supported
women in shaping the social fabric of the community.
The same hands that once carried red flowers
in celebration now lifted building blocks of
schools, churches and possibilities.
Holy preaching wasn't always done in words.
It was seen in actions. And this was
(21:56):
a different kind of resistance rooted in
care, education and quiet
empowerment.
>> Mr. Richardson (22:05):
Yeah, so the Dominican sisters, they came in
around the late 1890s, I think, to the
island. Um, they had an interesting
service of about 99 years on
stage. That's a long time. And quite recently one of
the last sisters died, I think last year in the
Netherlands. She returned, uh, many years after. She was also one of
the first, um, teachers of the Catholic school.
(22:28):
But the Dominican nuns, they come in the time that there's not
an established Catholic church. Uh, what
is a beautiful story of someone. I grew up in
the Catholic Church, so what I do know about
the role of the women's club,
um, this is something that was started, of course, you're now there
are these European nuns, um, coming
(22:48):
from already established Europe to a
small Caribbean island as missionaries, but then
realize that their work are so in depth,
uh, more in depth than missionaries, and
guess who become the pillars of society
also because of working with these Dominican nuns. It's the
station women. They are more than just
converts through Catholicism. They are really
(23:11):
the spearhead of the community, of the social
structure of the community, the welfare of the
community, together with these nuns. So you
see that the women kind of band together to
kind of formalize themselves now together with these nuns
and the nuns, then, you know, they start. One
thing that was instrumental is the building of the current
(23:31):
Catholic Church. There are pictures and documents
of women bringing the blocks up
the slave path. Um, not men,
the men were the stonemasons, but the
women as parishioners brought the stones up the
bay path as we know it. And it's quite steep and it's something
that they were very proud of. So you see that the resilience
(23:52):
of the women are now like, hey, I'm a woman
but I'm not feeble. And you see that in this
mixture of the Dominican nuns, you see also
that music starts to play a huge
role. Not only music, as in the song
and dance that Stacia is known for, but the structural
learning of music. They also started
(24:12):
a school here and many of the. You would see the
first teachers or the first
kindergarten teachers of Fort Peutuschol.
It's interesting. They get their teaching from these
Dominican nuns and get their
qualifications to teach on the island from these
Dominican nuns and not even from an institution in
Europe. So you see that the nun. The Dominican nuns
(24:35):
on the island don't only
install religion,
they kind of install kind of freedom
and entrepreneurship. And then you see
that out of the Dominican nuns a lot of structures
start to go in place. Women start to really lead
the society in different locations. And you see that
the influence of the Dominican nuns and the establishment of the
(24:58):
school isn't even only for Catholics,
but it's also for the Methodists on the island. The Dutch reform
basically for everyone. And you see that
there's a period of kind of, I would say
peaceful unity because you also see it in governing
letters and at the time. And these Dominican
nuns were really instrumental in the
(25:18):
current position of women
today and also the fight for women today.
And you would see that this early installment
of the Dominican nuns on the island and
that 99 year long reign is going
to produce a lot of strong
willed women who eventually
are the grandparents and parents of many of the
(25:41):
stations here today. And it's all because of
that influence of that period between
1890 onwards.
>> Unidentified (Podcast Host) (25:51):
Mr. Richardson reminds us the Dominican
sisters arrived not only with scripture, but with
structure. Their Mission rooted in
education and community service, wove new
threads into the social fabrics of post
emancipation stacia.
With them, island women built more than
churches and schools. They cultivated
(26:13):
leadership, kinship and quiet
revolutions of care.
But the path forward for Caribbean women did not follow a
single course. While some found purpose in
new institutions, other charted different
routes out of necessity, resistance
or survival. As
Dr. Elaine explains, across the region, many women
(26:35):
chose not to return to the same fields that once exploited
them. The end of slavery did not mean the end
of struggle. It did open the door for
women to redefine their roles in ways that
powerfully shaped the the post emancipation
Caribbean.
>> Dr. Elaine (26:53):
In the sort of years following slavery.
In the British Caribbean, historians
have documented that a lot of women actually
left plantation labor. So they
decided that they simply were not going to work on
plantations anymore for a wage. They were
going to grow their own crops for
sale and whatnot. This caused a major
(27:16):
panic among plantation owners, right, because they needed
the women's labor. Generally
speaking, though, across the Caribbean, the
majority of women continued to work as
plantation laborers. So in the French Caribbean,
for instance, um, some women, field work,
but most, because of a lack of
available land, had to continue working on
(27:38):
plantations. Some historians have
thought of women's retreat from the fields as
a sort of, um, retreat into
domesticity, as a sort of like
attempt to become proper women
in a sort of European sense of the term
proper womanhood. But I think the more likely
explanation is that field labor was
(28:01):
simply horrendously, uh, hard on the
body, extreme, extremely taxing in
all sorts of different ways. And women just didn't,
as much as possible, didn't want to be subject to
the kind of abuse that took place on
plantation.
>> Unidentified (Podcast Host) (28:20):
Their refusal to return to the fields was more than a
practical decision. It was a statement, a
rejection of a system that had long devalued their
bodies, their time and their freedom.
In choosing to step away, Caribbean women began
to redefine what work and what worth could mean in
a new world still shaped by the old one.
>> Dr. Elaine (28:43):
So, you know, women were obviously really, really
important members of their societies. After
the abolition of slavery, you know,
there's been a lot of discussion about
the phenomenon of matrifocal m
households. So this idea that sort
of during slavery and after slavery, women were
(29:04):
the heads of households and men weren't really
involved. And I think that that has been
exaggerated to some degree. And
in fact, men of African descent very
often were very involved in their children's lives.
And, uh, you know, so we don't want to exaggerate the extent to
which households were matrifocal. But at the same
time, it is true that, you know, women took a primary
(29:27):
role in raising children. They often were heads
of household, and they. They were, you know, often very
respected members of their communities. I don't want to
downplay, you know, misogyny and patriarchy,
but, um, you know, we definitely
have lots of evidence of. Of women of African descent across the
Caribbean sort of not playing the role of
(29:47):
demure little housewife, right? Of being sort of
in. Out in public and sort of having some. Quite
a bit of authority in their cultures. And, you know,
they weren't necessarily seen as respectable in the
eyes of Europeans, right? Or in the eyes of elite people of
African descent, um, they weren't necessarily seen as
demure staying inside the house. They.
They sort of enacted their own vision of
(30:09):
womanhood in a lot of different ways. And,
you know, sometimes they did take part in
labor militancy. In 1870,
in Martinique, there was a major uprising.
A lot of plantations were burnt by
field workers. It was very violent, and
women played a part in that. And one of them was named
(30:30):
Lumina, or her nickname was
Suplease, and she was actually hanged for
her involvement in this rebellion. There
are myriad examples of
women taking part in that kind of
rebellious, militant activity in the period
following slavery.
>> Unidentified (Podcast Host) (30:49):
Across the Caribbean. As Dr. Elaine reminds us,
women were not retreating into the shadows. They were
reshaping society on their own terms.
Choosing not to return to the fields was not just about
labor. It was about reclaiming ownership of their
time, their bodies, and their future.
But unfortunately, emancipation had
(31:10):
not leveled the playing field. The end of
slavery did not come with land, wages, or
justice. It came with absence.
Absence of support, absence of
infrastructure, of the very promises
freedom should have fulfilled.
On, uh, Cintastasius, the absence became its own kind
of exodus. The plantation
(31:32):
economy crumbled, and with it,
opportunities dried up.
Families made impossible choices. Some
stayed rooted in place, while others left in
search for something more.
And so, just as women across the region found ways to resist
through presence, many stations would begin
(31:53):
to resist removement. Migration became its own
form of survival. Next,
Mrs. Tsutakao reflects on what that movement
meant, not just for those who left, but but for the
island they left behind.
>> Ms. Sutekau (32:11):
This was the beginning of the migration
of people from east Asia to other islands.
They were going to other islands. That
migration would really take off in the early
1900s as the
refineries in Curacao and other
islands and also
developed Tourism on other islands,
(32:32):
um, would offer positions and
jobs to the people of Stacia.
So the Stacia population began to
decrease greatly by our own people
as they went off island. By
the 1900, most of the people that were
left on the island were fishermen,
(32:53):
farmers, grandparents and small
children. As the, uh, young
adults, people who could make a living
elsewhere, moved either up island
to St. Thomas and Santa Croix
and places like that, or to
the Puerto Ricos and other places,
or down island to Curacao and
(33:15):
Aruba, where there were opportunities in the whale
industry. A lot of that took place right
around the 1900s.
>> Unidentified (Podcast Host) (33:25):
Freedom, when it came to the Dutch Caribbean, was not a
moment of triumph. It was a moment of reckoning.
A proclamation read out loud could not just
undo centuries of violence, Nor could it
rebuild the lives left fractured by bondage.
And yet, from the silence of abandonment rose a
new kind of resistance. Women led the
(33:46):
way, not m always with protests, but with
presence. They sank freedom into the streets,
carried stones up steep path, and taught the next
generation that dignity could not be stolen,
only reclaimed. Their
stories tucked into folklore wrapped in red ribbons.
Whispers in the voices of elders continued to carry
(34:06):
the weight of freedom still unfolding.
Because emancipation was not the end of struggle.
It was the beginning of memory. A memory
not housed in monuments, but but in
movement, not bound to paper,
but passed hand to hand, story to
story. And if freedom lives on in
(34:26):
ways we remember, then we must ask
ourselves what m truths still remain
hidden? What voices
still go unheard? And what does it
mean not just to be free,
but to stay free? In our next
episode, we step into the 20th century,
where the echoes of emancipation give rise
(34:48):
to modern times and a new form of survival.
The fight continues not in
chains, but in choices.
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