For all its freedom proclamations, America’s Declaration of Independence ignored African Americans, many of whom were enslaved, none having equality with whites.
Imprisoned in forced labor camps — rice and cotton plantations — along the Sea Islands of South Carolina and Georgia, tens of thousands of West Africans and their descendants needed no written document to exert resistance to oppression. Defiant, they retained their native language, traditions, and cultural practices, of which ancestral religion remained central.
Rejecting white supremacist elements of Christianity, they subversively welcomed the biblical Exodus story of deliverance from bondage; identified with the suffering and death of Jesus at the hands of dominant power structures; and found hope in Jesus’ afterlife promise of rest. In “praise” houses apart from white folks’ prying eyes, they forged an inclusive declaration of independence rooted in African spirituality and incorporative of liberating Black Christianity. Covertly, praise houses embodied antebellum America’s most inclusive expression of religious freedom.
Typically the small cabin of a respected elder, the praise house connected with ancestral spirits through prayer and celebration. In the praise house all were equal, including children old enough to participate. Significant to the community experience, the exuberant “ring shout” — a rhythmic song characterized by joyful hand-clapping and counterclockwise dancing — transcended earthly travails.
Descendants of formerly enslaved West Africans along the southeastern coast are known as Gullah Geechee people. Gullah is a distinct culture rooted in West African language, arts, food, and spiritual practices. Geechee is a West African-rooted, English-infused Creole dialect within Gullah culture.
Seeking deeper understanding of historic Black religious freedom, I traveled to St. Helena Island near Beaufort, S.C. There Union naval and army forces liberated more than 10,000 enslaved persons in Nov. 1861, launching the march to emancipation, education, and land ownership for freedpersons. To the present day, most of the island is owned by descendants of West Africans.
There I visited with Dr. Marie Gibbs, historian and cultural interpreter at the Penn Center Historic District. Founded in 1862 as a school for freedpersons, Penn Center — now a preserver of Gullah history and culture and a catalyst for community development and social justice — is hallowed ground.
Gibbs is generationally rooted on the island. “The land is me,” she stated in a 2023 NPR interview. In describing her spiritual heritage to me, she spoke of a good God who helps the faithful persevere and experience happiness despite being oppressed. Dreams, visions, and oral stories are important in Gullah culture — and embodied at Penn Center. During the 1960s, the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. retreated to the center’s quiet spaces to work on his “I Have a Dream” speech.
On nearby Hilton Head Island, Gullah leader Melvin Campbell recounted his story. Hilton Head, historically wilderness, was largely inhabited by Gullahs into the 1950s, the local praise house still active. He recalls his wilderness “seeking” experience, a traditional coming-of-age spiritual moment no longer practiced. Wandering in the dark of night among alligators and snakes, he trusted God for protection while hoping for a dream or vision to report to his spiritual elder.
Gullah isolation ended when Hilton Head was bridged; the wilderness is now gone and few Gullahs remain, many having left after being deprived of their land rights by white people. Dreams and visions are fading, as well as memories of the praise house.
Not so on Sapelo Island, Ga., south of Savannah. Remote and accessible only by boat, the island remains largely under Gullah control. Visitation is limited. Culture is sacred. History ever hovers.
On Sapelo, JR Grovner, a descendant of enslaved people, recounts how a few West Africans brought Islam to the island, further enriching the religious vibrancy of the community. He is guardian of a diverse, ancestral cultural heritage of religious freedom.
In our present day, the few remaining praise houses “have helped us stay attached to our African lineage as a form of resistance, resilience, and strength,” observes Victoria A. Smalls, the former executive director of the coastal Gullah Geechee Cultural Heritage Corridor.
Departing the Sea Islands, I carried with me a deeper understanding of the subversive nature of actual religious freedom long ago declared and lived out amid brutal, inhumane conditions denying the promises of America’s Declaration of Independence.