My Home, The Plantation.
Antiracism Begins with Telling the Truth about American Slavery.
My house is located in what used to be a forced labor camp. I live in the deep south. Baton Rouge, Louisiana. There’s no escape, it seems, from the landscapes of slavery.
Consider my daily commute to work. I drive 1.9 miles from my subdivision to my office at Louisiana State University. In that circa 2 mile journey I drive out of my subdivision on a road called “Duplantier Blvd.” (I should mention that my subdivision is called “Plantation Trace,” see picture). The Duplantier family were one of the largest landowners, and slave owners, in Baton Rouge once upon a time.
Exiting my subdivision I turn right onto Highland Road, which is a natural “High Land” bluff between the Mississippi River just a few miles to the West and the swampy Bayou to the East. It’s been here for centuries, this road. Used first as a trail by Native Americans in this area, Highland Road was eventually developed and improved using slave labor.
Ok, we’re literally like only 1/10 of a mile in at this point. From my driveway to the point where I usually finally buckle my seatbelt.
So, I leave Plantation Trace, turning right onto Highland Rd. There are the drooping limbs of Live Oaks that line the street. Oh, I do declare! The dappled sunlight through the leaves of the…
