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Denmark Vesey was a pivotal figure in U.S. history. But was he hero or villain? Charleston, S.C., grapples with his civil rights legacy.
By TIM GRANT, Times Staff Writer
© St. Petersburg Times, published February 15, 2003
There are things I will never forget about my freshman year at the Citadel.
Like the ominous sound of the iron gate locking us in the barracks on Hell Night. Like the hunger pangs I felt leaving the campus dining hall day after day with more food thrown on my shirt than I had in my stomach.
Or that pivotal moment in my U.S. history class in fall 1985 when I first learned about a man named Denmark Vesey.
As my professor described him, Vesey was a black slave in Charleston, S.C., who bought his freedom in 1800 after winning a lottery. Although he became a highly regarded carpenter in the city, Vesey "betrayed" the white citizens by using his money and freedom to organize what would have been America's biggest slave uprising.
But "fortunately," the professor said, when his plot was discovered by Charleston authorities, Vesey and 34 of his lieutenants were hanged, and the state legislature moved to protect the city against future slave revolts by establishing a military college called the Citadel.
When I heard that bit of history, it was as if my parents had just told me I was an adopted child.
Until then, I thought I was enrolled in a college that stood for the preservation of freedom and democracy. But that day I realized it was an institution -- like other organizations -- solely created to keep my ancestors shackled and oppressed.
I stopped taking notes and looked around for someone who could identify with the emotional storm brewing inside of me. There were no other blacks in that classroom. And I felt alone and humiliated.
Suddenly it all made sense. I understood the fascination with Confederate flags on campus. I knew why the upperclassmen forced me to sing Dixie and ordered me and my classmates to say that the South won the Civil War.
Right then, I realized that the Friday parades, in which the corps of cadets march onto the parade field bearing swords and rifles and blasting cannons, must have been an intimidating display to the slaves who witnessed the weekly spectacle.
While in high school, I read the The Lords of Discipline by Pat Conroy, so I knew the college had racial problems. But I had no idea how deeply rooted those problems were in the school's history.
I don't remember another word my professor said that day. All I could do was wonder why he believed that a man who died fighting for my freedom was a villain. And I wondered what Denmark Vesey would think of me, an African-American, being a Citadel cadet? Was I fulfilling a dream? Or committing an act of betrayal?
As I endeavored to learn more about Vesey, I've discovered that my professor's reaction was not all that uncommon among whites in Charleston, and my reaction was not too uncommon among blacks.
Even today, the name Vesey still inspires mixed feelings among the two races, especially in Charleston, because they're unsure how to deal with his story and cannot agree on his place among black leaders.
After talking to Charleston Mayor Joe Riley, also a Citadel graduate, I recently learned the city has taken steps to build its first monument to Vesey.
"Obviously, Denmark Vesey is a controversial historic figure and there are different understandings of his intentions," Riley said. "But if you did a chart of the genesis of the civil rights movement, Denmark Vesey has got to be in it."
I agree with Riley. Vesey is among the forefathers of the civil rights movement. His insurrection led to the establishment of the Citadel. Citadel cadets fired the first shots of the Civil War. And, of course, the Civil War ended slavery.
So, Vesey's story is not only important to Charleston. His life is an important chapter in our nation's history. Yet nothing has been named for him.
Bernard Powers, a history professor at the College of Charleston, is part of a committee of black activists who want to build the Vesey monument. He said that although the City Council has endorsed the project, other approvals will be needed from the City of Charleston Arts and History Commission, and money must be raised to build it.
"There was some opposition having to do with Denmark Vesey's plan and his goals and whether they were worthy of public recognition," Powers said.
And it's understandable why some whites would object. Because if Vesey's organized plot had been successful, an army of slaves would have assembled at the stroke of midnight on July 14, 1822, to kill the city's white men, women and children.
It's understandable why they would compare Vesey to Hitler, Attila the Hun and Herod, the murderer of babies.
But considering the time in which he lived, and the cause for which he strived, Vesey had no choice but to declare war.
Civil rights leaders who rose up a century later had the opportunity to debate with their oppressors, exchange ideas, stage boycotts and peaceful protests. But in the Antebellum South, any black man who talked about freeing the slaves would easily provoke a lynch mob.
His desire for the liberation of black people and his willingness to die fighting for it embodies the spirit this country was founded on. That does not make him a murderer. He was a revolutionary. And he deserves to be memorialized and remembered.
What's also interesting is that although the descendants of Martin Luther King and Malcolm X have inherited a place of honor in our modern society, Vesey's descendants had to either relocate or change the spelling and pronunciation of their last name for their own safety (the original pronunciation is Vee-see, not the Vay-see commonly heard).
According to David Robertson, author of the book Denmark Vesey, the Vesey name had disappeared entirely from the census of blacks and whites in Charleston by 1880.
"The family name and living memory of Denmark Vesey has declined with the passing generation of black Charlestonians," Robertson wrote.
Vesey came to Charleston as a slave. He was purchased in 1781 by Capt. Joseph Vesey, a longtime resident of Charleston who commanded a slave ship that traded between St. Thomas and Cape Francais during the Revolutionary War.
(A relative of this captain was the first rector of Trinity Church in New York City, and the present day Vesey Street in lower Manhattan is named after this relative of the Charleston slave captain.)
According to testimony at Denmark Vesey's trial, Capt. Vesey and his officers were impressed by the beauty and intelligence of a 14-year-old boy among their slave cargo whom they unanimously adopted into the cabin as a pet. They gave him new clothes and a new name, Telemaque, which gradually became Denmark.
Denmark learned various languages as he sailed with the captain around the world, a skill that would later be useful in communicating his insurrection plan to slaves from different tribes throughout low-country South Carolina.
He made a fortune, $1,500, in 1800 when he picked the winning numbers in the East Bay Street Lottery. Vesey bought his freedom for $600, bought a home in the same neighborhood where the governor lived, and set up trade as a carpenter.
As a free black man in a city where slaves greatly outnumbered their oppressors, Vesey became a leader in the African Methodist Episcopal Church and used its pulpit to spread his message of freedom.
He equated slavery to the Book of Exodus in the Bible. As Moses led the Children of Israel out of bondage in Egypt, Vesey would lead the blacks out of a city that was the largest slave port in America.
At the time, Charleston was overwhelmingly populated by slaves. Planters were caught in a vicious cycle of buying more and more slaves on credit to clear more land and produce cheaper rice and cotton.
Sheer numbers would have guaranteed a victory if the rebellion had not been betrayed by a house slave. After months of secrecy and planning, the conspirators approached the wrong slave, Peter Prioleau, who told his master.
Charleston authorities jailed and tortured people to learn the details of Vesey's plot. Following a trial and conviction, Vesey, who was in his late 50s, was hanged on July 2, 1822.
Even then, city authorities refused to let his death be memorialized in any way. It was decreed that any black person who wore mourning clothes within a week of Vesey's execution would be arrested and bullwhipped.
There are no known photographs, drawings or description of how Vesey looked and, like the Biblical Moses, no one knows where his body is buried. Even the oak tree on Ashley Avenue where Vesey is said to have been hanged, was chopped down by the city in the early 1970s.
Despite all the efforts to erase him, Charlestonians have decided it is time to honor Vesey.
As an African-American who graduated from the military college created as a result of his life, I have a connection to him that transcends the ideals on which the school was founded.
I take no pride in the Confederacy. But I am proud of winning an extraordinary college experience. And I believe Vesey would be proud of that too.
-- Tim Grant can be reached at (813) 269-5311 or at rant@sptimes.com .