040 – 047 Sugar cane and Virginia Pate (old book 32-35)

Vincents text Norsk oversættelse Min nye bog

40 In winter I usually hung around in the deepest Southern states, and one year at Christmas I ended up on the sugar plantations of Louisiana. While I’d perceived slavery in North Carolina’s tobacco fields primarily as a state of mind, here I was shocked to find purely feudal, serf-like conditions. Whites owned not only the plantations but also the houses in which the black workers lived. The shacks lay around his large plantation home in small clusters—exactly as in the time of slavery. Whites also owned everything else in these small villages, including the only store, known as “the company store.” Prices were 30% higher here than in stores in the bigger towns, where the workers couldn’t afford to go, and where, incidentally, they often couldn’t read the street signs (many were illiterate). Their average income was below $3,000 a year, which often had to support a family of 6–10 people. To survive, the workers therefore began to borrow from the landlord and soon fell into debt. Usually they didn’t pay with cash in his stores but got more credit and were slowly pushed into economic bondage. People who don’t receive wages for their work can only be called slaves. Falling into such a vicious circle, they were in fact owned by the landlord: they couldn’t leave his plantation until they paid off their debt. And that could only happen by a miracle. 43 When I was in New Orleans in 1973, a newspaper ran articles about this feudalism just outside the city, offering sentimental accounts of children on the sugar plantations, who only got an orange once a year—for Christmas. A tear-jerking campaign was launched to send the children Christmas presents, and dental students arranged free dental buses when it was revealed that they’d never been able to afford to go to a dentist. I later found out that others had made efforts to organize these slave workers. A white Catholic priest tried to organize the blacks—meetings were held in secret because they were constantly shot at—but in vain. The blacks, who remembered an earlier insurrection in the 1930s in which many were killed, were afraid of losing everything. Although this probably had passed into history for the whites, I soon discovered everywhere in the black community that a slave remembers for generations. 44 Because of their fear of white reprisals, it was almost impossible to live with the plantation workers. When I finally managed to find a place and had gone to bed, the rumor about me had already swept through town like lightning. Suddenly the door was yanked open and George Davis, an angry neighbor, stuck the barrel of a gun in my stomach and chased me out into the winter night. Later that night, Virginia Pate, a poor widow, took pity on me and let me to share a bed with five of her children in a shack far out in the swamps. It gets cold in the morning when the stove goes out, and since the children pulled the blanket to themselves, I froze the first night. But the next morning Virginia began repairing old quilts so I wouldn’t freeze the next night. I’ll never forget this widow, whom I’ve visited almost every year. She was willing to defy the whites even though she herself didn’t dare stay under the same roof with me (she slept in her sister Eleanora’s shack). I went hunting in the swamps, along with her son Morgan, for armadillos and other animals. We got drinking water from the roof gutter. George Davis was later murdered by Virginia’s niece and nephew. 46 I had not in my wildest fantasy imagined that my friendship with Virginia Pate would last almost 40 years until 2012 when I came to say goodbye to her shortly before her death. Countless friends including a Ku Klux Klan leader I had brought with me to see her over the years. When Danish film crews came to make movies of her, she took them around to all the places I had stayed with her and family. For through her I also became a member of her larger family of 7 sisters and 4 brothers. As with many other families in this book I made elaborate family trees to keep track of her increasing number of children, 17 grandchildren and 10 greatgrandchildren. Her children Morgan, Doretha and Oliver often came on stage with me to answer questions from my audience, “how it was for them to have shared bed with a strange looking white man.” Her sister Beryl or “Black” amused all my friends. Although deeply religious, as a prison guard in the local Angola prison she sat in the tower 12 hours every night. “Would you shoot at your two nephews if they tried to flee?” “Of course, I will shoot anyone getting just close to the fence.” For it was her sister, Elnora’s two twins, Bertha and Bertram, who killed George Davis – who had the first night almost killed me with his shotgun in Virginia’s house. I didn’t meet Bertha shown here until 1994 when she was released, but with his 75-year sentence Bertram will never get out of Angola. And this brings me to my point of why it is so important to bring people together. I had met them all on April 13th, 1973 when I was trying to get into the Angola prison because blacks in New Orleans had told me that once you entered there, you never got out again. I had started photographing for the Black Panthers and the year before three activist Panthers from New Orleans had been falsely accused of stabbing a white guard. Framed entirely for their Panther activism they were thrown into solitary confinement for life. In 1994 I invited Anita Roddick with me. She had overnight become a billionaire when she took her cosmetic company, The Body Shop, on the stock market and wanted my help to invest in the black community. So, when I and Bertha told her about “The Angola Three”, she started a worldwide campaign for their release. She managed to get into the prison to visit the three “political prisoners”, where Woodfox talked about surviving through learning via the Black Panthers and reading in his cell about the history of black oppression, “When I began to understand who I was, I considered myself free.” Now Anita had the power to make a change for oppressed people – and used it to get the three Panthers released after 30-42 years in solitary confinement – the longest in American history. This is what came out of my friendship with Virginia Pate and why I love this photo Anita took of us together. The year after Anita invited me to her castle next to the Queen’s Balmoral. White privilege has many faces.

40 Om vinteren hang jeg som regel rundt i de dybeste sydstater, og et år til jul endte jeg på sukkerplantagerne i Louisiana. Mens jeg havde opfattet slaveriet i Nord Carolinas tobaksmarker primært som en sindstilstand, blev jeg her chokeret over at finde rent feudale eller livegne forhold. Den hvide godsejer ejede ikke blot plantagerne, men også de huse, som hans sorte arbejdere boede i. De lå i en lille klynge rundt om hans store plantagehjem – nøjagtig som i slaveriets tid. Han ejede også alt andet i de små landsbyer, herunder den eneste butik, som derfor hedder ”the company store”. Her var priserne 30 % højere end i de større byer, hvor sukkerarbejderne ikke havde råd til at tage hen, og hvor de ofte ikke kunne læse gadeskiltene, da mange var analfabeter. Deres gennemsnitsløn var under 3.000 $ om året, som ofte skulle forsørge en familie på 6-10 personer. For at overleve begyndte arbejderne derfor at låne af godsejeren og kom snart i konstant gæld til ham. Normalt betalte de ikke med kontanter i hans butikker, men fik mere kredit og blev langsomt presset ind i økonomisk trældom. Mennesker, der ikke får løn, men kun mad og husly, kan man kun kalde for slaver. Og var de først kommet ind i en sådan ond cirkel, var de i virkeligheden ejet af godsejeren: de kunne ikke forlade hans plantage, før de havde betalt deres gæld. Og det kunne kun ske ved et mirakel. 43 Da jeg var i New Orleans i 1973, bragte en avis artikler om denne feudalisme lige uden for byen med sentimentale beretninger om børn i sukkerplantagerne, som kun fik en appelsin én gang om året – nemlig i julegave. Der blev iværksat en tårepersende kampagne for at sende børnene julegaver, og tandlægestuderende arrangerede gratis tandlægebusser, da det viste sig, at de aldrig havde haft råd til at gå til tandlæge. Jeg fandt senere ud af, at andre havde gjort en mere konstruktiv indsats for at organisere disse slavearbejdere. En hvid katolsk præst forsøgte at organisere de sorte - møderne blev holdt i hemmelighed, fordi der konstant blev skudt på dem - men forgæves. De sorte, som huskede et tidligere oprør i 1930'erne, hvor mange blev dræbt, var bange for at miste alt. Selv om dette sandsynligvis var gået over i historien for de hvide, opdagede jeg snart overalt i det sorte samfund, at en slave husker i generationer. 44 På grund af deres angst for repressalier fra de hvide, var det næsten umuligt at komme til at bo hos sukkerarbejderne. Da det endelig lykkedes mig at finde et sted at bo, og jeg var gået i seng, var rygtet om mig allerede gået som en lynild gennem byen, for pludselig blev døren revet op, og en gal nabo, George Davis, stak en geværmunding i maven på mig dér i sengen og jog mig ud i den kolde vinternat. Senere på natten forbarmede en fattig enke, Virginia Pate, sig over mig, og jeg fik lov at dele en seng med hendes fem børn i en shack ude i sumpene. Der bliver koldt om morgenen, når kakkelovnen går ud, og da børnene trak tæppet til sig, frøs jeg den første nat. Men næste morgen satte Virginia sig til at reparere gamle vattæpper, for at jeg ikke skulle fryse den følgende nat. Aldrig vil jeg glemme denne enke, som jeg stadig besøger næsten hvert år. Hun var villig til at trodse faren fra de hvide, selv om hun ikke selv turde være under tag med mig, men sov i søsteren Eleonoras shack. Sammen med hendes ældste søn, Morgan, gik jeg på jagt i sumpene efter bæltedyr og andet spiseligt. Drikkevand fik vi fra tagrenden. George Davis blev siden myrdet af Virginias to nevøer. 46 Jeg havde ikke i min vildeste fantasi forestillet mig, at mit venskab med Virginia Pate skulle vare næsten 40 år indtil 2012, da jeg kom for at sige farvel til hende kort før hendes død. Utallige venner, herunder en Ku Klux Klan-leder, havde jeg taget med mig for at besøge hende i årenes løb. Når danske filmhold kom for at lave film af hende, tog hun dem med rundt til alle de steder, hvor jeg havde boet med hende og familien. For gennem hende blev jeg også medlem af hendes større familie på 7 søstre og 4 brødre. Som med mange andre familier i denne bog lavede jeg udførlige stamtræer for at holde styr på hendes stigende antal børn, 17 børnebørn og 10 oldebørn. Hendes børn Morgan, Doretha og Oliver kom ofte på scenen sammen med mig for at svare på spørgsmål fra mit publikum, “hvordan det var for dem at have delt seng med en hvid mand med et mærkeligt udseende”. Hendes søster Beryl eller “Black” morede alle mine venner. Selv om hun var dybt religiøs, sad hun som fængselsbetjent i det lokale Angola-fængsel i tårnet 12 timer hver nat. “Ville du skyde på dine to nevøer, hvis de forsøgte at flygte?” “Selvfølgelig, jeg vil skyde alle, der kommer bare i nærheden af hegnet.” For det var hendes søster, Elnora’s to tvillinger, Bertha og Bertram, der dræbte George Davis - som den første nat næsten havde dræbt mig med sit haglgevær i Virginias hus. Jeg mødte først Bertha, der er vist her, i 1994, da hun blev løsladt, men med sin dom på 75 år vil Bertram aldrig komme ud af Angola. Og det bringer mig til min pointe om, hvorfor det er så vigtigt at bringe folk sammen. Jeg mødte dem alle den 13. april 1973, da jeg forsøgte at komme ind i Angola-fængslet, fordi sorte i New Orleans havde fortalt mig, at når man først var kommet ind der, kom man aldrig ud igen. Jeg var begyndt at fotografere for de sorte pantere, og året før var tre aktivistiske pantere fra New Orleans fejlagtigt blevet anklaget for at have stukket en hvid vagt ned. De blev spærret inde udelukkende som følge af deres aktivisme for panterne og blev sat i isolation på livstid. I 1994 inviterede jeg Anita Roddick med mig. Hun var blevet milliardær fra den ene dag til den anden, da hun havde sat sit kosmetikfirma, The Body Shop, på børsen, og hun ønskede min hjælp til at investere i det sorte samfund. Så da jeg og Bertha fortalte hende om “De tre fra Angola”, startede hun en verdensomspændende kampagne for deres løsladelse. Det lykkedes hende at komme ind i fængslet for at besøge de tre “politiske fanger”, hvor Woodfox fortalte om at overleve ved at lære ”via the Black Panthers” og læse i sin celle om den sorte undertrykkelses historie: “Da jeg begyndte at forstå, hvem jeg var, betragtede jeg mig selv som fri.” Nu havde Anita magten til at skabe en forandring for undertrykte mennesker - og brugte den til at få de tre pantere løsladt efter 30-42 års isolationsfængsling - den længste i amerikansk historie. Det er bl.a. det, der kom ud af mit venskab med Virginia Pate, og derfor elsker jeg dette foto, som Anita tog af os sammen. Året efter inviterede Anita mig til sit slot ved siden af dronning Elizabeths Balmoral. Det hvide privilegium har mange ansigter.