‘I Am Nobody’s Slave’ charts a course toward intergenerational healing

Lee Hawkins’ devastating memoir, “I Am Nobody’s Slave: How Uncovering My Family’s History Set Me Free,” is about the ties that bind, both familial and societal. Hawkins, an editor and reporter for The Wall Street Journal, details the harsh realities of growing up in a middle-class Black family with deep, unacknowledged ancestral wounds. These moral, psychological, and physical injuries drove his parents to inflict frequent beatings on their three children in the twisted hope that keeping them in line, and out of trouble, would protect them from a racist society.

The book begins innocuously with personal anecdotes about the importance of the Black church and male mentorship in Hawkins’ life. The narrative shifts after Hawkins’ family moves, when he is a kindergartner, from a largely Black area of St. Paul, Minnesota, to the white suburb of Maplewood for better schools. It is an idea akin to that of the Great Migration, where Black folks moved to Northern states in hopes of escaping Jim Crow. The author’s predecessors left Alabama in search of better opportunities for employment and education. However, there was no hiding place for Hawkins – not from racism, nor from his hypervigilant parents. Their concerns about racial conflict and violence, as well as fears for their son’s safety, were justified, even if their behavior was not. The visceral racism directed at Hawkins included everything from vile epithets to targeted hate mail.

Hawkins acknowledges that white people were not the only perpetrators of violence, which he describes in his recollection of the iconic “Roots” TV miniseries:

“Rewatching the scene years later, I saw the white overseer of the enslaved people hand the whip to a Black man and command him to do the whipping. In his relentless pursuit to strip the proud Black boy of his confident sense of freedom in his Black identity, the white man never even had to touch Kunta Kinte. The enslaved Black man obeyed his order and did the white man’s dirty work for him.”

Hawkins notes the pushback on Black mobility and expression, both from within his family and outside it. There were efforts to discourage Hawkins’ outspokenness, which ultimately led to a budding interest in politics and a successful career as a writer.

What begins as a memoir evolves into a compelling American story fueled not only by research into race and sociology, but also by Hawkins’ genealogy. His family history shows how violence and rape in the era of chattel slavery can be felt over the generations, both for the family of the enslavers and for the enslaved.

At first, I was hesitant to appreciate Hawkins’ need to outline his childhood experiences in such painstaking detail. His intent becomes clear, however, as the story continues. The writer wanted readers to feel the same heartbreak he experienced. Ultimately, through self-reflection and the help of a therapist, he was finally able to construct his own figurative manumission papers.

Hawkins’ memoir, while wholly honest and emotional, is not entirely sad. There are threads of Black entertainment and interpretations of empowerment that work in this book like they do for so many Black folks here and abroad – as symbols of hope.

Hawkins speaks about his late father’s affiliation with Sounds of Blackness, a musical ensemble from Minnesota whose most recognizable song is “Optimistic.” It is a providential footnote, much like the mentions of “Roots.” There is also an underlying appreciation for Black political consciousness and fluidity, a welcome contrast to the mass media depiction of a monolithic voting bloc. Much like Hawkins and his father, I also remember watching “Tony Brown’s Journal” with my dad, and though Brown joined the Republican Party in 1990, he opened his show to guests of all political and social walks of life.

I smiled when Hawkins mentioned Stacey Patton as a point of reference in stopping violence against children. Dr. Patton’s “Spare the Kids: Why Whupping Children Won’t Save Black America” is an essential work advocating against corporal punishment, and her 2008 memoir, “That Mean Old Yesterday,” reads similarly to Hawkins’ work. I would be remiss if I didn’t note the similarities in their families and upbringing – seemingly perfect from the outside, while violent behind the scenes. Nevertheless, both of them are doing the reclamation work necessary for not only themselves, but also generations of people disenfranchised by racism and caught in patterns of violence.

Hawkins’ willingness to discuss his “mean old yesterday” offers a new hope in the present. If we can acknowledge the trauma of slavery and the fact of its continuing repercussions – individually, within families, and in this country – we can begin the task of healing.

It is a liberation movement worth reading about and practicing.