100 Objects #12: "Negro Cloth"

You hunt around for little scraps of information.

“Clues you can use to try to piece together a more complete story of the past.”

You dig through old meeting minutes, receipts, and business transactions. You read old diaries and leave through old letters. And when you can, you try to get your hands on actual physical objects from history. This part can prove particularly difficult because the materials of everyday life are usually lost to the sands of time.

Seth Rockman is a professor of history at Brown University and recently he was looking for clothes that were worn by enslaved people in the American South, which was proving impossible because those items just didn't survive. They didn't survive because, of course, in most cases they were used into oblivion through

hard labor or through various forms of recycling, a garment that had worn out might

be ripped into shreds and some of its stuff into holes in a wall to insulate or stuffed into the toe of a shoe or made into a bandage.

“As a result, very little of the clothing that was worn on slave plantations lasted even”

into the 1870s. And even if it had, we'd still be unlikely to find it because many of the cultural institutions that have been devoted to preserving the American past, their collection practices in the late 19th and early 20th century would have had no interest in this. Right.

Oh, look, I have a garment that in enslaved person wore great, come back when you have something a George Washington wore, wouldn't be more likely what you'd hear. And so these goods would not be preserved in some of the collections. In fact, the clothing that enslaved people wore is so rare that historians have been searching for it for years.

So, for example, when Lonnie Bunch, who was the inaugural director of the Smithsonian National Museum of African American History and Culture, was going about trying to build his collection

“in the early 20th teens, he was interviewed about the kind of things he was most hoping”

to find and also least likely to find, and he put at the top of that list, slave clothing. Seth Rockman was looking for this clothing as part of the research for a book called Plantation Goods, a material history of American slavery. It's about all the objects that made slavery possible, the hoes, shovels, boots, and clothes that were used on plantations throughout the US south.

Rockman was not able to find any pants or shirts, but he was able to find a piece of fabric. It happened one day when he was in the archive, looking through the mail. One of the pleasures of being historian is reading People's Mail from several hundred years ago. So as I was beginning this project, naturally I went to the archive and called up the

records of some of these firms that were engaged in making plantation goods. And I opened up the folders and was very surprised to find that many of these letters were actually not laid flat in typical archival practice, but in fact, we're still folded,

tri-folded, and so I'd be perhaps the first person to unfold some of these in maybe a hundred plus years.

So as I'm unfolding these letters from merchants in Savannah, merchants in Charleston, slaveholders in Louisiana, all of a sudden I'm very surprised to see straight pinned to the top of one of these letters, a two by two square of fabric. And then a letter that describes this is the kind of fabric we want, this is what it should look like.

And to recognize all of a sudden there in the paper archive was a material cultural artifact that, in fact, would be better and would exceed anything that I might be able to find presently in a museum. This two by two-inch square had been mailed from a plantation owner to a textile manufacturer as a way of saying, "Make us some more fabric like this."

A lot of squares like this one were sent in the other direction too, as a way to advertise the types of material that textile companies were planning to sell for the following year. Almost like a sample of fabric that you might get in the mail when you order a couch. These little swatches of fabric are all that remains of what was once an entire category of textile.

And for your listeners, I would say we have to recognize that the trade name that affixed to this quality of fabrics is a racial term that is discordant to contemporary ears, if not offensive. It is not the most offensive of terms that affixes to race in American culture. But the term is Negro cloth.

And again, this is a term that 19th-century Americans black and white enslaved and free. North and South would have been quite familiar with, but to us it presents a whole series of mysteries because it's not actually a thing.

objects. I'm Roman Mars.

“Today, this little scrap of so-called Negro cloth shows how the plantation economy”

touched nearly every aspect of American society and how businesses, consumers, and ordinary people, rationalize their involvement in slavery. There is a lot to say about this little scrap of fabric that Seth Rockman found. And much of that conversation springs from the fact of where it was made, because the story we're going to tell starts not in the south, but in Rhode Island.

It's 1821, it's been 45 years since the signing of the Declaration of Independence, and it'll be another 40 years before the Civil War rips the country in two. In the south, slave plantations form the basis of an agricultural economy.

While in the north, the very first millils and factories are popping up in early sign

of the industrial revolution that is to come. It's against this backdrop that two brothers in Rhode Island named Isaac and Roland Hazard start a textile company.

“They know how to make fabric, but they don't know where to sell it, and as they're getting”

their business off the ground, they get a tip about a lucrative, captive market. They're producing woolen textiles and writing to merchants in Boston, merchants in Philadelphia, merchants in New York, saying, "Do you anticipate a market for these kinds of textiles?" And it is a merchant in Philadelphia who says, "You know, many of the southern buyers are in the city this season, and they seem to take a great liking to this as a Negro cloth."

And all of a sudden, the hazards come to be the leading American manufacturers of woolen

textiles that will move from north to south under the name of Negro cloth. It turns out that the hazards have a series of connections through their family to Charleston and Charleston merchants and then Savannah merchants begin to tell them how desirable their goods are for enslaved people to wear. And invite them to come, tour the plantations, see how it works, and learn more about the

qualities that make for a desirable Negro cloth. And so, beginning in the early 1820s, one of the two brothers will spend about half of each year either on the eastern seaboard in the Carolinas in Georgia or traveling all the way to New Orleans and then setting out on marketing tours up the Mississippi and even over

into Arkansas and Texas and in doing so, they will gather a huge amount of information.

And one of the things that is truly surprising here is the role that enslaved people themselves will play as informants in the design of these particular textiles. So, as the hazards are making these research trips to the south, they would actually get enslaved people's perspectives on the clothing. And I guess given the inherent cruelty of slavery, it is a little surprising to me that enslaved

people would have any influence at all over the close they were. It's a really sort of complicated dance that only makes sense if we recognize the tremendous

“terrain of violence on which it is taking place, right?”

This is not a situation in which a group of workers have the capacity to negotiate freely with their employers and if they don't like it to go on strike or to leave, right? This is a system of tremendous labor exploitation predicated on her rific forms of violence both physical and psychological, recognizing that. In slave people, like working people everywhere, sought to carve out various kinds of possibilities

that might not auger the end of slavery, but that might lessen some of the simply misery of everyday life. So if we think about this as an analogy of workers who are trying to get a five-minute water break as opposed to a four-minute water break or workers who are trying to get 15 minutes for lunch rather than 12 minutes for lunch, we might think in a comparable way, in slave

workers could say, "You know, if you outfit us in this kind of performance wear, if you outfit us in these textiles that are of the color or of the cut or of the composition that we desire, you know what, we're going to be less likely to cut off your heads in the middle of the night, and also we might pick cotton more quickly, or we might not die as frequently from respiratory infections due to mourning mists in the fields.

And slaveholders are very responsive to this. This is some in some ways for them a very easy concession to make, and they are sold on these possibilities largely behind New England manufacturers who tell them, "No, no, this isn't just a woolen cotton fabric that's 32 inches wide, and 14 ounces to the yard.

It will provide protection to your investments in human property.

“It will accelerate the rate of cotton picking in the fields.”

It will meet your price point. It will allow you to present yourself as a benevolent provider to your people. One of this is actually true, but it becomes part of the sort of marketing pitch and slaveholders who have their own anxieties and their own political needs and their own psychodrama to work out in terms of their exploitation of other human beings, respond very positively

to this. It's interesting this sort of economic interdependence that was development, like the north outsourced the agricultural labor and the south outsourced the manufacturing of these plantation goods.

You know, it's become sort of this interdependent system.

That's right. We typically think about the divergence of north and south, because the civil war sits on the timeline of American history as this sort of giant black hole with gravitational pull that makes everything that happened before simply rode to the civil war. Well, rather than thinking about all of the inherent antagonisms between north and south

in the 50 years preceding the 1860s, what I've tried to do is show many of the kinds of synergies between these two economies. Looking at, as you say, the interdependencies of a southern mode of production that outsources the production of its important inputs and a New England economy that is more than happy

to jump into that void as a provider.

“And one might argue an economy that has functionally offshore, it's slavery, right?”

As its legal regime has declared slavery no longer viable as its moral sort of sentiment has turned against slavery as a legitimate form of organizing society. Nonetheless, New England capital has simply moved into other territories and other legal regimes where slavery is A.O.K., and like firms that offshore money or offshore production today, precisely because there are legal regimes or tax codes or labor regulations that are

more permissive to the money they want to make, so to New England manufacturers able to maintain a very tight relationship to slavery, even as their own communities in their own society became far more skeptical of that institution. So is the goal here to show how complicit the north was in the system of plantation slavery? Or is that even the right question to be asking?

In some ways, it is an intuitive response to this. Wow, the north's hands were just as dirty as anyone else's, they were up to their eyebrows and slavery even as they were denouncing it, what hypocrites. And I suppose when I started this project, that's sort of what I expected to end up with, with a kind of set of smoking guns showing exactly how deep New England's economy was in

the expansion of plantation slavery. But as I went down the road of this project, it also seemed to me that was too easy, and that complicity as a kind of smoking gun as Aaha gotcha kind of move was not that edifying when in actuality, we actually know this, and it seemed to me that it was more interesting as a historian to take complicity for granted, that is to say take complicity as inherent

to the human condition for the last 500 years, as global integration has tied people in one place to people in other places through all sorts of commercial exchange, and to ask how did people live within these structures of complicity? How did people make sense of it? How did people square those circles? And that created a much more interesting, and I would argue complicated way, of thinking

about economic entanglement not only in the past, but certainly in the present that we currently inhabit. Okay, so getting back to the hazard story specifically, they do all this research on plantations, and they bring this information back with them to Rhode Island, and they use it to make a product.

“But did the production of the hazards Negro cloth look like?”

So one of the remarkable things about this business is how much of it doesn't take place in a modern factory space, but rather how much of it integrates certain aspects of factory production with many more traditional holdovers of household production, or what would be called outwork. So for example, the hazards could have their yarn spun in a mill, but then they could take scans of that yarn and deliver it to countless rural families

in their community with specific instructions about how to weave it on a household bloom,

a given family that might have devoted the extra labor of a daughter, or the evening time

“labor of a husband or wife into the production of this good, that the hazards would then”

bring back to a factory where they might use mechanized machinery in order to finish or full or diesel the fabric to prepare it to send to the south. So it's sort of a strange mode of economic development in which the factory and the household aren't in opposition to one another, but rather working in tandem to produce these goods. Yeah, I want to talk about this sort of just the material itself, like how different was so called needle cloth from fabrics worn by

white manual laborers at the time. This is the remarkable thing. There is a category of goods

that everyone knows as needle cloth, and it is also not a real thing because the same fabric

that when it is marketed to Irish canal diggers in upstate New York might be called Kentucky Jeans, and when it's marketed to Ohio farmers, it might be called Welsh Plains, but when it's marketed to slaveholders in the south, magically it becomes Negro cloth. But Negro cloth is a term that captures within it a bunch of different kinds of very specific things. So if you were to walk into a store, a dry goods store in Charleston or Savannah or Mobile or New Orleans in 1840 and say,

I please show me your Negro cloth. They would say, well, where to even begin? Do you want it all

“wool? Do you want cotton wool? Do you want it linen wool? Do you want it plain woven or twill woven?”

Do you want it 10 ounces to the yard? 12 ounces to the yard? 16 ounces to the yard. Do you want it

28 inches wide? 32 inches wide? 36 inches wide. Do you want it finished fine? Or do you want it finished rough? Do you want it dyed blue? Do you want it striped? Do you want it plaid? Infinite possibility. So there is no one thing called Negro cloth. There are many different kinds of fabrics that travel under that umbrella and are defined solely by the fact that they can be marketed as performance ware for slaves. What do you make of that? It's much like all things having to do with race.

It means everything and nothing at the same time. It's a strange phenomenon, but it is very much part of the ways in which race and material culture have been very tightly wound with one another in American history and the ability to label certain kinds of consumer goods as black or as white has done some of the work of creating an ongoing conversation about difference. Particularly for white Americans talking about the difference between cloth and Negro cloth

becomes a way of talking about the difference between black people and white people. And two of my favorite scholars, Barbara and Karen Fields talked about this as a kind of racecraft, a kind of sorcery that organizes American culture to talk about difference, to talk about difference, to talk about difference, race becomes real as lived. And so plantation goods do very important work within this discourse in the 19th century, at a moment when white Americans

particularly in New England are having new conversations about difference. When they're beginning to say, oh, maybe slavery is not right or maybe all humans are of one blood rather than of separate creation and to that extent, the interjection of opinions about, oh, this cloth is only suitable for black people or this acts isn't the kind of acts that a white person would want to use or these shoes are inappropriate for black people because they are to this or to that because

black people have these kinds of feet or those kinds of feet. All of the goods that are manufactured for use on the plantation fit into this kind of discursive space and they create a

“very robust conversation. And what did the people who were involved in making these plantation goods?”

What did they think about the morality of what they were doing? That's one of the most difficult questions to answer. And of course, it was the question that I was most hoping to answer, right? You're a farm girl in Southern Rhode Island. It's 1828. You're spending your fifth hour of the evening sitting at a loom. Are you thinking, my goodness, I'm fulfilling the biblical cause to dress the naked. I'm like a modern day dorkess. Or are you humming a minstrel tune and engaging

in the racist popular culture of your society? All of these things are possible and all of these things are almost impossible to determine with any kind of accuracy. I mean, if we found one diary of one New England farm girl, we'd have an end of one and that might not be particularly telling. There are a couple ways where we can think about the relationship of these New England workers to, for example, abolitionism. How many of them would have signed a petition calling for,

where this labor is taking place. And one of the things I tried to do was to match names on

“payrolls, with names on petitions. And I didn't find too much overlap. So it did seem like in a”

small community like South King's Town Road Island, the women who were joining the abolitionist society were not the women making textiles for slaves. But that is also telling in the fact that there is an abolition society in this small town in southern Rhode Island, which means that the kind of families and the kind of people who are making this clothing aren't doing so with no knowledge that slavery is controversial. They're not doing so with no awareness that this is a hot-button political

issue. I imagine, you know, the farm girl carrying her 50 vests that she's made over the last

month back to the center of town to turn in for store credits and countering someone that she

knows from Sunday School saying, "Hey, would you like to sign this petition?" Or, "Hey, do you want to come to this meeting this evening?" And the fact that this is also in the realm of the possible makes us recognize that this is not an unthinking decision, but this is a conscious decision to see or to not see the ways in which New England labor is tied up with the expansion of plantation

“labor in the American South. And what about the businessmen? Like, what about the hazards themselves?”

Like, what did Roland Hazard think about slavery? Yes. Roland Hazard and his brother Isaac would have described themselves as being against slavery. And that will seem very surprising to the extent

that they are running a business for 40 years that's about provisioning slave plantations with

clothing. But what they would say is that slavery is not the future. The world would probably be better without slavery, but we also have very little possibility of ending slavery. It would be too hard. It would be too complicated. There's nothing really we can do. We just have to hope it sort of a thoughts and prayers approach to being anti-slavery. But I'll say one of the things about the hazards that I think sort of explains to me how they make sense of the world.

And I think if we time-traveled back to just talk to Roland Gibson Hazard and said, "Mr. Hazard, isn't it true that you have for your entire career skimmed profit off of a corrupt system of human exploitation?" We'd say, "What are you talking about? I'm a philanthropist." You're like, "Wait, a philanthropist? Get out of here. A philanthropist?" No. Here me up. I'm a philanthropist because okay, look around South King's Town Road Island. All these families surrounding us used to be dirt

poor. Their kids didn't have to use. Nobody went to church. This is a real backwater. Look at these families now. They have a higher material standard of living. They can send their children to school. I have through this business, you know, tremendously improved my community for the well-being of this inhabitants, but also for the glory of God. And meanwhile, look in the south. Those suffering slaves. If I didn't make warm and durable clothing for the slaves, the slaves would be

naked and that would be worse. So all of a sudden, I'm simply easing the suffering of these people until the day can come in which they can be emancipated. But until that day comes, I will simply turn out your hearts and your hearts and your hearts of patented double-curacy cloth at an affordable price point of 45 cents a yard so that they can stay warmer and healthier than they might otherwise have been. I'm curious about their argument about improving the standard of living in

these small New England towns. Were they being sincere about that? Were these good jobs for the

“standards of the time? Absolutely. And this is one of the things that I think allowed people like”

Isaac P's hazard and his brother Roland hazard to see themselves as doing something other than taking advantage of a corrupt system of human exploitation. They were able to significantly raise the material standards of living in these small rural communities where agricultural subsistence was sort of puttering along, but where rural poverty was really quite robust. And to that extent, the way you might compare the lives and livelihoods of small New England

farming families in the 1790s to those of the 1840s, those in the 1840s would have more pairs of shoes, more silverware, more calories precisely because they would have access, not to necessarily more farmland, but to an additional source of income that might use the surplus labor time of a daughter or wife or a son to produce these goods for market. And so the plantation provisioning business, the plantation goods, we might call it ecosystem, made them in effect, aspiring middle-class

Americans rather than hard-scrabble farmers, and that was really important.

morally problematic and that they shouldn't be profiting an office slavery.

“Oh, I think they were quite aware of this within local communities throughout New England,”

but people were constantly bringing this to attention, not necessarily to drive them out of polite society, not necessarily to stimulate abolitionism, but in some ways simply to acknowledge the reality. The best example of this actually comes from a small town in central Massachusetts called North Brookfield, Massachusetts, where a minister named Thomas Snell has been the town's Congregational Minister since the 1790s, and in the 1850s he decides to write a town history because

he's been there for 50 plus years. And in his town's history he says, "Look, when I took the pulpit here, this was a complete hellhole." This was like the worst place on earth. Everyone was poor, everyone was drunk, no one went to church, everyone was a blasphemer, it was misery everywhere you

“turn. Look at us now, 50 years later. We have seven Bible societies, six abolition societies,”

four lyseums, we don't have anyone who's drunk, we have no one who's living on the street, our children are well-closed, they all go to school, they all look good, we have nicer houses, we have nicer things, why is this? And then he says, the answer everyone knows is slave shoes, and that not $1.50 passes through the hands of the town people through a source other than slave shoes. But then he goes on to explain, this doesn't make slavery right, and it doesn't make

shoemaking wrong, it's simply a fact that we have to acknowledge about our prosperity. Snell is someone who hates abolitionism, who thinks that people like William Lord Garrison are the worst and far more dangerous to American society than slaveholders. So it's not part of simply an abolitionist critique, it's simply a discussion of acknowledging the fact that New England prosperity goes hand in hand with Southern slavery and to deny that is to deny a very basic

reality. This equilibrium is disrupted when the civil war breaks out. What happens to the hazards and where do their allegiances lie? So much to my surprise, most of the New England manufacturers of plantation goods are not dragged kicking and screaming into the civil war. This is as they see it

“not the worst thing that could ever happen to them. And the reason, there are a couple reasons for”

this. One, they have a particular soft landing. Why? Because now there is a huge demand for low quality cloth, low quality shoes, low quality hats through the U.S. Army, the mobilization of the Union Army creates opportunities for cloth that last year was called Negro cloth. This year to be called Infantry Man Blue or whatever it might be. And so they don't basically suffer a great deal from the loss of their Southern markets. But perhaps more importantly, they have this fantasy

and that attests to I think what we might see as their more general anti-slavery commitments that in freedom black people in the south are going to be far better consumers than they could ever be

as slaves or that their enslavers could ever be as consumers. And that the ability of 4 million

freed people creates 4 million liberated consumers who are going to have money in their pockets through wage labor that they can then spend on a second dress for their wife or a pair of shoes for their children. And that this is going to be a source of tremendous prosperity for New England Manufacturers in the decades to come. Now, they are sadly wrong about this, the violence of reconstruction and the violence of sharecropping, particularly its system of debt, pionage, means

that black southerners in freedom do not become significant consumers. They do not become a market. I mean, it is amazing to me that the hazard generally believed that reconstruction might create a class of free black workers with enough money in their pocket to buy a new shirt every year. It strikes me as hopelessly naive. It didn't work out that way and it didn't work out that way for reasons that we in the United States still don't have a full accounting of our

ignorance collectively about the violence of reconstruction and about the ways in which white supremacy was reestablished in the south and the ways in which the largest slaveholders were once again back on top of an economic system that devoted ever more amounts of southern labor, black, and white to the cultivation of cotton. We need that story. We need to recognize, for example,

that the American south remained the world's most important producer of cotton for the industrialized

created a free labor paradise in which everyone can simply earn abundant wages set by the market

for spending hours in a cotton field, but through vigilante violence, through debt-peenage, through the inability of people to move for higher wages at risk of getting shot.

“And that's really important here. Yeah. Ultimately, look, what do you want people to take”

away from this study of plantation goods? Well, obviously, as a historian, I want people to know some new things about the United States in the 1820s, 1830s, and 1840s, but let's be honest. This book is not just a book about the past. This is a book that is very much about our present and the ways in which the long-distance entanglements of consumers and producers create all sorts of ethical, environmental, moral, political dilemmas that we find ourselves very much in.

And I would say that the evolution of this book, for me, went hand-in-hand with things in our society, around, say, trying to establish our carbon footprints and to lessen them, or going to the university bookstore and finding out how much of that branded logoed merch is now declaring

“itself to be sweatshop free, or trying to buy fair trade coffee, or thinking about where our”

university endowments are tied up in weapons production, or other kinds of economic pursuits that we find unsavory. And this has been one of those places where I feel like my students in particular have pushed me so hard on this to look at the ways in which we are all tied into these economic relationships, but also to be cognizant of the great difficulty of extracting ourselves, particularly as we think about the trade-offs. Oh, I'm very much interested in lessening carbon

outputs and my own dependency on carbon-based fuel, so I'm going to move to an electric car. Oh, wait, haven't you thought about the violent production of rare earth mineral materials in West Africa? Aren't you then complicit in that kind of exploitation? Oh, how wonderful that you're

“using a paper straw? Yes, I know, but I'm doing it on an airplane that I'm flying to California to”

see my family, and so I've sort of you know obliterated any kind of good. Don't you care? We exercise a good deal of consumer agency in the global north, but it is not a consumer agency that at present is really tilting the scales in ways that create a more just and more fair society or planet. And so what I want for people who read this book is to say these dilemmas are in fact not new.

We are not the first people who are challenged by an integrated global economy. A globalization

was not invented with the WTO in the 1990s, right? I mean, you know, as we're talking about this sort of offshoring of misery, basically, that feeds this economy. The the offshoring of misery is getting further and further away from us. The mechanisms are more office-cated. They're more abstract. Is this an excuse? Is this just means we have to dig deeper? Is this is something that we have to contend with in a different way? I wish I had a good answer for that question, and I'm afraid

I don't. It does seem to me that an awareness simply of these kinds of entanglements and awareness of global supply chains, a commitment to writing more people's experiences into the ways in which goods come to exist within our lives in the privileged West. But the erasure of all that, right, is so fundamental to capitalism, is so fundamental to what Marx had called the commodity fetish, right? It is all about erasing the prehistory. And so it does seem to me that there is a political

project that you and your podcast are engaged in. Your listeners are certainly engaged in

to basically pull back that veil to open that black box and to say that things don't come into the

world fully formed as commodities. They come into the world and become commodities through noble historical processes that often involve individual or social decision-making that involve the deployment of all sorts of power, personal and state, and also involve a great deal of cultural work to then invisibilize all of the things that go into making the world look the way that it does. Seth Rockman, this has been such a fascinating conversation. I really enjoyed your work.

Seth Rockman is the George L. Littlefield Professor of American History at Brown University.

“He is the author of Plantation Goods, a material history of American slavery,”

which was a finalist for the Pulitzer Prize in History.

A history of the United States and a hundred objects is a production of 99% of visible

“and BBC studios. It's hosted and curated by me, Roman Morris. This episode was produced by”

Emmett Fitzgerald. Our series producers are Priscilla Aloebe, Brenna Daldorf,

and Ellie Lightfoot. Our associate producer is Isaac Fisher. This series was edited by Annie Brown and Courtney Harrell, mixing by Charlie Brandon Kane, fact checking by Amy Bracken. Our theme song is by Swanry Owl. From 99% of visible, our executive producer is Kathy, too. From BBC studios, our executive producers are Annie Brown and Courtney Harrell. Our production coordinator is Shan Palet. And the production manager is Mabel Finnegan Wright, artwork by Stephen Lawrence.

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