Exploring Charleston's Dualities: Visibility, Invisibility, and the Power of Storytelling
Being the foodies we are, my husband and I decided to travel to Charleston, SC, since it is consistently voted as a foodie city and number one international travel destination. In typical Type-A fashion, I booked our reservations and input our detailed itinerary into the Wanderlog travel planner app. However, with all my research, I did not expect the enduring influences of African and African American culture to only be visible in the cuisine and the museums as if the generations of people who made Charleston remain nothing more than ghosts.
While traversing the city, I quickly realized that Charleston is a city of contrasts: beautifully preserved architecture and charming cobblestone streets mask an often untold, complex history. As I walked through its historic districts, I felt the weight of what was both visible and hidden. Beneath the brightly painted homes and Southern charm lay the stories of those who built this city but whose presence has been seemingly erased. These are the stories of Black bodies, enslavement, Black ingenuity, and defiant joy that rarely make it into those popular guided tours I refused to patronage because I could neither bear to hear the euphemisms used for the brutality of slavery nor the utter lack of disregard to tell a more complete history. As such, my recent trip to Charleston became a journey into the dualities of visibility and invisibility, presence and erasure, and an exploration of the stories that refuse to be forgotten.
One of the most profound moments of my trip was walking the shores of Sullivan’s Island, where an estimated 40% of enslaved Africans were brought to North America on what is known as “The Ellis Island of Black Americans.” I have yet to visit the continent of Africa, particularly the West Coast where my ancestors were born, but I can understand what my friends and countless other African Americans experience when they are on the shore. It is true that we carry the stories in our bodies, and I believe, when we are deeply connected, those who came before us can stir up what has been hidden in our Black bodies. As I walked the shore, I had a very strong felt sense of my ancestors who survived, maintaining their dignity and refusing to believe the lies that they deserved a life of bondage. They realized that freedom did not lie in the eyes of those who enslaved them. This defiance and strength is deep within the marrow of my bones. Those shores were a part of my homecoming and a reclamation of the truth of my origin story.
Throughout the week, we learned more about the Black people in Charleston through tours, museum visits, and just simply striking up a conversation with the (few) Black people we saw. Taking the Gullah tour with Mr. Alphonso Brown, a native of Rantowles, SC, a rural community of Charleston, provided a new lens to an often untold history. Mr. Brown has dedicated his life to preserving and sharing the rich culture of the Gullah people. He is fluent in the Gullah language and leads Gullah Tours, providing an in-depth look at the history and heritage of Charleston from the Gullah Geechee perspective. Through his storytelling, Mr. Brown brings to life the traditions, resilience, and contributions of the Gullah community that are often overlooked. He also spoke passionately about the Gullah Geechee language and how it has been preserved over generations. At the International African American Museum, I learned that the Gullah Geechee culture has remained mostly intact because much of the land they lived on was owned by “absentee masters,” which allowed the community to retain their traditions, language, and way of life with less suppression.
While visiting the Charleston City Market, I had the privilege of purchasing a beautiful ring basket from Corey Alston, a 5th generation Sweetgrass Weaver. Corey, along with others from the Gullah culture, is committed to protecting his heritage and artistry from being culturally appropriated. Sweetgrass Basket Weaving, a tradition dating back to the days of enslavement, is a significant part of Gullah Geechee culture and is a rare art in America. Corey practices this art from his home in Charleston, but I was blessed to see him in action in the Market. His work is displayed in the International African American Museum and the Smithsonian American Art Museum. He is passionate about sharing Gullah culture through educational seminars, and his work can be explored further at The Gullah Culture.
Now, here’s the rub. As I admired Corey's sweetgrass work and that of his community, I also noticed round sweetgrass placemats, which brought on a moment of reflection. I realized that the round placemats I have on my dining room table, bought using a wedding gift card from Pier One Imports, were likely a cultural appropriation of this traditional craft. Seeing the authentic sweetgrass artistry in Charleston made me realize how often these beautiful elements of Gullah culture have been coopted, their origins erased and repackaged without honoring the people who created them. This experience underscored the importance of supporting artisans like Corey, who are working to preserve their heritage and ensure the integrity of their cultural expressions.
A quote from the Gullah Geechee culture says, "Mus tek cyear a de root fa heal de tree." This powerful reminder speaks to the importance of nurturing our roots in order to truly heal and grow. Just as the roots sustain the tree, our history and culture sustain us. To move forward and flourish, we must care for the roots—our origins, stories, and the truth of who we are. But, we must do it in a way that does not limit our identity to oppression and what we are fighting against because I truly know I come from a people of believers and visionaries whose spirit continues to endure in me, never subject to erasure.
Embracing Necessary Endings
Erasure is not just about forgetting; it is an active process of obscuring truth. Just as pruning involves an intentional cutting away to foster new growth, there is a need to intentionally address and uproot this erasure, to make room for more complete and honest narratives. This is the work of embracing necessary endings—challenging the versions of history that do not serve truth or healing.
In the context of my 3D Power Tools framework—Discover, Discern, and Determine—the need to uncover these hidden histories is part of the Discover phase. It’s about asking the questions that reveal what has been hidden or left untold. What parts of our collective story have been obscured, and how can we bring them back into the light?
Action Steps for Personal and Collective Growth
Self-Reflection: Take time to reflect on the stories in your own life or community that may have been hidden or forgotten. What aspects of your history have been erased, and why? What have been the lasting effects?
Intentional Learning: Seek out the stories that are often left out. Visit spaces, read books, or listen to voices that highlight the full, complex history of marginalized communities.
Embrace the Unknown: Trust that in bringing these stories to light, we are creating the conditions for growth and healing, even if the outcome is not immediately clear.
Nurture New Narratives: Once these hidden stories are uncovered, give them the attention and care they deserve. Share them, honor them, and let them guide your understanding of the present.
Closing Thoughts
During my visit to the International African American Museum, I stood in front of the powerful art piece titled "I AM Still Here". This artwork spoke volumes about the resilience and enduring presence of Black people in Charleston, even in the face of erasure. It reminded me that despite attempts to render our stories invisible, we are still here, thriving and contributing to the world in profound ways.
So, the next time you find yourself in a place rich with history, remember to look beyond what is presented on the surface. Seek out the stories that have been hidden, and honor the wisdom and ingenuity that lies beneath because we are still here.
