The public reaction to the burning of the Nottoway plantation, the largest remaining antebellum-era structure in the South, has been mixed. While many, particularly Black Americans, celebrate the visage of a Louisiana sugar plantation engulfed in flames, others bemoan the loss of this landmark. This historical preservation argument falls flat as we consider the actual use of the property. Their website referred to Nottaway as a "resort," as if removing the term "plantation" would wash away all the horrors inflicted upon Black people there. The present owners offer visitors the opportunity to tour rooms in the main house, book a reservation for an overnight stay at a "cottage," or host their wedding on the property. It's clear this former plantation was not being used to inform the public about the legacy of slavery, but rather to profit off the ambiance of the antebellum era, while whitewashing its horrific legacy.
The romanticization of southern plantations offers a striking contrast to how other nations treat historical landmarks associated with inhumane treatment. No one uses former concentration camps, such as Auschwitz in Poland, as wedding venues. The fact that World War II-era German Nazis tortured Jewish people there would make such an arrangement distasteful and cruel to the descendants of Holocaust survivors. It is now a museum where visitors can learn about this historical tragedy. Curators do not attempt to soften the harm that was committed. Yet, southern plantations in the United States are not treated with the same reverence. Despite their history as forced labor camps where white people brutalized Blacks for profit, there is an effort to whitewash their history. They have become playgrounds for wealthy, predominantly white people, allowing them to bask in the allure of this period while overlooking the brutality of the system that produced it.
New Orleans architect Henry Howard designed the Nottoway Plantation in the classic Antebellum — Greek Revival style, featuring massive white columns, high ceilings, and a spacious front porch. The walkway to the plantation is lined with 28 live oak trees, creating a naturally attractive setting for visitors. This fairytale-like imagery distracts visitors from the unnatural conditions that produced the plantation as an institution. In 858, enslaved laborers built the property in White Castle, Louisiana, just south of Baton Rouge, eighty miles from New Orleans. Its construction, just a few years before the start of the Civil War, illustrates the rapid expansion of slavery during this period. In The 1619 Project, Khalil Gibran Muhammad noted, "By the 1850s, Louisiana planters were producing a quarter of the global sugar-cane supply." Despite the picturesque facade of the plantation and the nostalgia it often evokes, we shouldn't forget that White southerners' prosperity came at the cost of Black people's lives.
Indeed, John Hampden Randolph, the owner of the massive Nottoway plantation, enslaved 155 people and forced them to harvest sugar cane. It wasn't just a home for a wealthy family; rather, it was a farm maintained through a violent system of chattel slavery. An 1882 article noted the Nottoway plantation produced "three hogsheads per acre, roughly 3,000 pounds of sugar per acre each season." Many who are unaware of the region's history do not realize Louisiana was unique in this potential. Its subtropical climate, similar to that found in Florida and the Caribbean, made it fertile for harvesting sugarcane, as the climate and rich soil allowed that crop to thrive. Still, even fewer realize the extent of the brutality used to spin yarn into white gold. Muhammad wrote of Louisiana's sugar plantations that the "life expectancy was lower than on a cotton plantation and closer to that of a Jamaican cane field, where the most overworked and abused could drop dead after seven years of labor."
Many feel elated seeing this sugar plantation, the largest remaining southern symbol of the pain and suffering Black people endured. It's reminiscent of the more than 250 enslaved people's uprisings leading up to the Civil War, where burning these structures represented liberation. The famed abolitionist and underground railroad conductor, Harriet Tubman, once "led a raiding party up the Combahee River to damage the economic power of the South by burning wealthy plantations and liberating the enslaved people held there." Even then, during the heat of war, many White people on the side of the Union condemned the practice of burning plantations. "Northern press coverage" "even the abolitionist newspaper The Commonwealth condemned the burning of Darien at the hands of 'Yankee negro vandals' and "brigands." It's a reminder that even those willing to risk their lives in part to end slavery did not approve of destroying these plantations. For White people, the conflict was a "war among brothers." But for Black people, this was a fight for their freedom. This perspective explains their support for seeing plantations go up in flames.
Even generations removed from slavery, Louisiana continues to bear the marks of anti-Black racism. One study found that the median net worth for Black households in New Orleans was $14,000, while it was $185,000 for white households. This indicates that the state has yet to reckon with the impact of slavery after its abolition. In 2022, the state voted to maintain the slavery loophole in the 13th Amendment, which permits enslavement as a punishment for those convicted of a crime. Indeed, "Louisiana's present-day distinction as the world's incarceration capital is rooted in three centuries of history," according to a Historic New Orleans Collection report. The racial hierarchy, crafted in the Antebellum era, has been maintained through racially discriminatory laws and policies. Furthermore, state leadership has resisted efforts to address the lasting harm of slavery. Under these conditions, witnessing a plantation burn can feel almost therapeutic for Black people with enslaved ancestors, a type of ancestral karma.
What would happen if America embraced a "never again" attitude in terms of the racism and mistreatment of Black people? Then, perhaps the remaining plantations in Louisiana and the rest of the South would become museums. As it stands, many White people are still profiting from private ownership of plantations. Given the racial wealth gap, Black people are less likely to be able to afford to purchase them, and determine how these properties are used. While twin Black sisters, Jo and Joy Banner, purchased the Woodlawn Plantation last year, and the Whitney Plantation prohibits weddings, the vast majority of these properties do not honor the legacy of slavery. Most are privately owned by White people and designed for entertainment rather than education. They allow visitors to trivialize slavery, to reduce the persecution of Black people to a minor detail, masking the truth — that they built these properties for the pleasure and enrichment of White people. That's why so many are feeling jubilant after seeing video footage of the building burning.
Writer Christopher Seals posted online, "listening to the crackling flames consume the Nottoway Plantation on a continuous loop is like ambient relaxation — the soft, resonanting sounds of freedom that many souls never had during their existences there. We feel you, thank you, and love you." Some suggested this was Black folks' ancestors' way of communicating with them. In a viral pic online, three Black women can be seen visiting the plantation as firefighters put out the blaze to smile, take group pics, and selfies. Some changed the screensaver on their phone to an image of Nottoway ablaze. Flagboy Giz of the Wild Tchoupitoulas Mardi Gras Indians posted a picture of a suit he made by sewing beads on canvas, featuring the image of a plantation burning. This scene illustrates a narrative of how some Indigenous tribes helped enslaved Black people escape. Author Uju Anya said, "Good. generations of human beings were held captive, torutred, raped, mutillated, and worked to death in plantations," urging those who want to "hold their weddings and parties at Nottowa find another concentration camp for their happy occassion."
On the resort's website, authors boasted that the property was "stunningly restored to her days of glory" before it burned. Given the estate's history, referring to the 1850s as "days of glory" inspires nostalgia for the chattel slavery era. Rather than neutral, such a framing celebrates the wealth and social capital of White enslavers. Though twin Black sisters, Jo and Joy Banner, purchased the Woodlawn Plantation last year, the Whitney Plantation is a museum that prohibits weddings, most of which remain privately owned by White people and are used for entertainment. Ironically, if they do decide to rebuild, they would have to pay the workers, unlike last time, when they forced enslaved people to construct it.
Iberville Parish President Daigle referred to the burning of Nottoway "resort" as a "total loss," a tragedy for locals. He claimed the plantation was "a cornerstone of our tourism economy, and a site of national significance." The town of White Castle is named after the "main house" on the property. Despite the end of slavery, the tourism industry ensures that the owners of these properties still profit. How interesting that the property that once represented the expansion of the slave trade in Louisiana now represents its demise. It's sixty-four rooms now only exist in photos, videos, and the memories of those who've visited the property. Its charred remains are unrecognizable compared to its former structure. And given that no one was reportedly hurt in the fire, those celebrating its destruction the month before Juneteenth aren't praising violence. On the contrary, their jubilation is an expression of relief that a former forced labor camp has burned to the ground. This must have been the visage our ancestors saw as some of them fled their enslavers.
Far too many white Americans host their weddings at plantations and trivialize these historical landmarks. They focus on the ambiance of the large oak trees, the classic antebellum architecture, and the Creole cuisine, as if this scenery's physical beauty and pleasures can erase the harm. It doesn't. In that respect, the fires feel cleansing for those fed up with the constant romanticization of the slavery era and its relics. For many Black people, the burning of Nottoway represents one less plantation misused as a wedding venue. And perhaps, it can spark a national conversation about the appropriate way to honor the legacy of slavery. And for those who claim its destruction is a tragedy because of the loss of a historical structure, what steps have they taken to ensure the truth is told about this period? This narrative is unfolding amidst a conservative push to remove Black history from the classrooms. If we're going to fight for preservation, it can't be only to maintain the physical structure of buildings, but also to ensure that future generations understand their historical relevance.
This post originally appeared on Medium and is edited and republished with author's permission. Read more of Dr. Allison Gaines' work on Medium.