This chapter analyzes the rich essayistic activity of the Harlem Renaissance (1919–1940). Through the visual arts, music, and literature, many African Americans responded to the changing national and international dynamics of the 1920s as an opportunity to leverage their creative arts and redefine their place within the nation. Poetry and fiction were the literary genres African Americans increasingly employed for these efforts. More ubiquitous was their frequent complement: the essay. Writers like Gwendolyn Bennett, Benjamin Brawley, W. E. B. Du Bois, Jessie Fauset, Zora Neale Hurston, James Weldon Johnson, Alain Locke, and Eulalie Spence infused the essay with this ethos and positioned it as an equally important genre for chronicling the period. Indeed, it was through the essay that readers in the United States and in other parts of the world encountered rhetorical styles reflecting the racial pride and determination of the “New Negro.” Essays from the period detailing the array of forces and ideas shaping African American life – including migration, racial violence, civil rights, and Pan-Africanism – constitute dynamic narratives combining history, opinion, and critical redress.

This chapter examines a collection of suits decided by the U.S. Supreme Court that together privileged antebellum interpretations of doctrine over the promise of the Reconstruction Amendments, standardized the responses to post-emancipation litigation across state lines, and, ultimately, prevented abolition. The Court adopted the majority views developed at the state level as a blueprint for the edifice of Jim Crow.

Administrative conflict and confusion between Federal military and civil authorities in southern Louisiana in overseeing plantations, as preparations made for 1865. Sugar planters reiterate demand for labor and racial control with slavery abolished. Some former slaveholders express view that slavery might be salvaged. Planters and freedpeople in cotton region also contest features of new labor and racial order. Following Confederate capitulation in the west, Federal military forces assume control of entire lower Mississippi valley and emancipate enslaved people still under Confederate authority. Freedmen’s Bureau begins to establish itself and to institute free labor arrangements. White Southerners respond to military defeat and the end of slavery with anger and violence, and many vow that slavery will be reestablished once Federal military presence ends.

“The Article” looks at newspaper accounts of lynching through the lens of print, visual, media, and material culture. This materialist lens draws particular attention to the production and circulation of newspaper accounts. Further, this chapter conceptualizes the broader issues of memory, absence, and narrative in the use of newspaper articles as historical primary sources.

Through an examination of scraps of clothing collected from the sites of lynching, this chapter theorizes the persistence of the reliquary object into the nineteenth- and twentieth-century South. The chapter focuses on the particularity of clothing as material objects capable of holding sensory and conceptual memories of the human body. This comes as part of a larger discussion of relics and reliquary cultures and builds on discourses on the Black male body from history, African American studies, and visual culture studies.

The conclusion to this book looks at the public afterlives of lynching objects as they move from personal collections into archives and museums. Through a study of several visual and material collections from lynchings, the chapter makes a claim for the persistence of lynching's material culture as part of an evolving historical conciousness. Further, this conclusion serves as a blueprint for a rethinking of the public historical interpretation of racial violence and of the rethinking of the entanglements between cultural heritage and racial violence.

“The Tree” examines lynching souvenirs in the context of the emerging tourist economies of the late nineteenth- and early twentieth-century southern United States. The chapter focuses on mementos taken from lynching trees as well as the overlaps between this practice and other forms of landscape documentation and tourism. Through this study, the chapter also charts the overlaps between different object categories, particularly souvenirs and relics, as the image of the South became an increasingly commericalized and consumable one. This study of lynching souvenirs thus makes an argument for the inextricability of southern identity from its foundations in racial violence.

This chapter examines another form of conventional historical source through a material culture lens by considering a letter written in 1898 by a former Fusionist supporter and the father of Emma Hartsell. Hartsell was the alleged cause of Kizer and Johnson's lynching, and her father's letter defended the lynching as a necessary corrective to his own former political beliefs. This chapter puts the letter in two broader contexts: the white supremacist political campaign of 1898, and the built environment of media in the turn-of-the-twentieth-century South. In particular, the chapter juxtaposes various landscape texts, such as notes left on lynched bodies and commerical advertising on buildings, to conceptualize broader printed and built cultures of white supremacy.

This chapter juxtaposes the history of the first Black-funded textile mill in the postbellum southern United States with the lynching of Tom Johnson and Joe Kizer. The study uses the opening of the Warren C. Coleman mill in the same year and town as the Kizer and Johnson lynching to examine the overlaps between white definitions of labor and justifications for racial violence. Through a study of the hammer and chisel used to break into a jail cell to abduct the two victims, the author examines the evolution of working memory in and of the South, particularly as it pertains to questions of race, gender, and age.

“The Song” takes as its subject the material, visual, and sonic circulations of a ballad written about the Kizer and Johnson lynching. The chapter focuses in particular on its first recording, a 1960s single by the folk musician J. E. Mainer. By looking at its circulation first as a performed and then recorded song, the chapter examines the sonic and visual circulations of the ballad as a signifer of southern authenticity. By delving into discourses on authenticity and folk culture, “The Song” points to an evolution in the meaning of racial violence as a constitutive part of a white southern identity. Further, the study examines how this emblem of white southernness came to represent a particular form of personal authenticity for a new generation immersed in the folk revival movement of the 1960s. In this way the chapter serves as a study of both the racist ideology of some countercultural movements as well as the evolution of lynching's meaning in the late twentieth century.

The Introduction explains the history of Haiti and the Dominican Republic and the evolution of the border between the two from the colonial period through the twentieth century. It focuses on the transformation of the border that began with the US occupation and culminated in the genocidal policy of Trujillo. The Introduction presents the ways in which Trujillo’s government confronted the contradictory problem posed by a population that the state recognized as Dominican citizens, but that the state rejected as ethnically and racially undesireable. It demonstrates that the perpetrators of the 1937 Haitian Massacre understood that they were unleashing violence against their own citizens, and not only immigrants and squatters. It considers the 1937 Haitian Massacre in light of its remarkable absence within the evolving field of genocide studies, as well as its comparative significance in relationship to other twentieth-century histories of anti-Black violence in the Americas.

In the defamatory stories about Raúl, storytellers relate an extravagant catalog of cruel “pranks” to which elites supposedly subjected Raúl for their own sadistic entertainment. In addition to satisfying audiences’ thirst for voyeuristic violence against a Black man, these scenes – full of lurid nudity, homosocial sexuality, and near-death experiences – cast him as hapless and devoid of will. Contemporaneous sources (1916–30) do show a marked degradation in visual and textual representations of Raúl – he becomes less “bat” or mysterious creature of the night, and more blood-sucking parasite, ridiculous clown, or punching-bag. I trace Raúl’s reduction to caricature to the 1916 comic strip “The Adventures of El Negro Raúl,” a hugely popular weekly publication in which a bumbling, hapless, and mistreated Raúl, rendered in blackface style, is the main character. Many more such portrayals would follow. Generations of storytellers who later recounted Raúl’s life, skipping over everything that made him extraordinary, looked at these sources and took them as evidence of the idea that Raúl was, in fact, a sorry buffoon. But they get the causation backward. It was the fanciful stories of degradation told in these texts and images that caused Raúl’s fame to sour, to become infamy. And the defamatory stories writers and artists told about Raúl narrowed his choices, forcing him to step into a complicated relationship with the young men of the city’s elite that often involved mistreatment (if not quite the sensational “pranks” related in later stories). The tenuous balancing act of Black celebrity, always challenging, became especially difficult to pull off after 1916, as a newly threatening form of blackness burst onto the national stage with momentous shifts in national politics – the election of the first president through universal male suffrage. The removal of an entrenched aristocracy from power, and the rise of “masses” considered “black” in their barbarism (if not their actual ancestry), made Raúl’s character – Black in both the racial and class senses of the word – a scapegoat and a useful object lesson in how not to be Argentine. Raúl’s alluring visibility morphed into punitive and risible hypervisibility, fed by broader social and cultural narratives – suspicion of panhandlers and vagrants during the economic depression, the maligning of social climbers in the era’s tangos, or an obsession with fallen celebrities in the sensationalist press – but especially by racial stories about specifically Black celebrities who soared too high and were destined to die in abject misery and oblivion.