On a recent trip to Barbados, I visited the Wiltshire Plantation in the Parish of St Philip, located on the south-east coast of the island overlooking the Atlantic Ocean. This is where some of my enslaved ancestors were held in captivity during the Trans-Atlantic Slave Trade era. The first recorded land purchase of this estate (approx. 500 acres) was to Captain Francis Skeete in 1639. In 1739, the plantation was established and named after Thomas Wilthsire, the leaseholder. The site has changed ownership several times since then, but the plantation house once referred to as “Whitehaven” still stands as a historical landmark.
The location is protected from rough ocean waves by a high rocky coastline which also provides a panoramic view of the horizon in the far distance. There was a sudden torrential downpour as I travelled to the site. The heavy dark clouds looming overhead deepened the gloomy atmosphere of the desolate windswept landscape. Fortunately, the rain reduced to a light drizzle as I descended the vehicle to commence the brief walk up a steep gravel path to the plantation house. The light raindrops felt refreshing on my face as I paused for a few moments to absorb my surroundings. I wanted to connect physically, mentally and spiritually to this place, which meant opening new doors to my imagination. Clearly, this was not an everyday occurrence. I was here to pay homage to my ancestors.
My enslaved ancestors had been shackled and transported on British slave ships from West Africa to the Caribbean; dehumanized and sold as “chattel.” Their African identity and culture were largely stripped away as they became part of the island’s plantation society, governed by the Barbados Slave Code of 1661. Following full emancipation from slavery in 1838, under the British Empire’s Slavery Abolition Act, the names of plantations were commonly used as surnames by the former enslaved. As a result of this ancestry, my maiden name Wiltshire ties me inextricably to the history of this place.
The plantation house was once the epicenter of power and privilege on this site. However, to my ancestors, it represented unimaginable brutality and terror. I visualized it as the “engine room” for the inhumane treatment they endured, which did not suddenly cease with the abolition of slavery. The remnants of such discriminatory behaviors and practices continue to pollute society today. The plantation house now stands alone, hollow and dilapidated, as a haunting representation of a brutal history. Sugarcane cultivation drove the demand for the enslavement of Africans. The industry required an unpaid, robust and disposable labour force to be profitable. The production of sugar, referred to at that time as “white gold” was used to build wealth in Britain, whilst those enslaved suffered and perished within the supply chain.
The sugar cane fields which absorbed generations of blood, sweat and tears were now neatly levelled in preparation for new development. Except for the plantation house, the entire site, which in effect should be considered a historical crime scene, has been sanitized. Only those who have taken the time to learn the history of this place would understand its significance; connect to the remaining traces of a brutal history and remember those enslaved whose remains are long buried in the soil on which I stood. I whispered quietly into a gust of wind that suddenly enveloped me, “I am here because you will never be forgotten. I celebrate you!”
I also wanted to look beyond the suffering to the acts of resilience and resistance against oppression. Most notable is the Bussa Rebellion in 1816 which started in St Phillip on the nearby Bayley Plantation, spreading to the Wiltshire Plantation and across the island. Many involved in this and other uprisings were killed, whilst seeking to break the chains of their enslavement, but I imagined them free in their hearts and minds. I left the site feeling uplifted by the power of resistance demonstrated by those who had walked before me. My ancestral inheritance gave me the power to imagine their authentic identities, bestowing upon them the dignity they deserved.
Clearly, the time for gaslighting is over and increasingly leaders of the global majority are demanding reparations and recognition of the Trans-Atlantic Slave Trade as a crime against humanity. This must remain a top priority. Those who seek to justify such inhumanity or fall short of accepting accountability would benefit from education and enlightenment, including visiting relevant historical sites before speaking on the subject. In other words, they should walk in the path of their ancestors, as I have walked in mine. Regardless, I believe that the process of reparations starts at an individual level. I am not seeking permission to shift away from dominant western narratives about this most brutal period in human history. This visit reinforced in my mind that reparations also involves finding and claiming the history that rightfully belongs to me and my ancestors, irrespective of what others may think.
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