Stories of Flight and Freedom: Marronage in the Great Dismal Swamp
Jul 15, 2022
Written by Becca Williams, SBT Copywriter
For July, Wanda asked that I write about freedom. I spent some time thinking about what freedom means to me in this fraught era when it seems as though the concept is under daily negotiation – an experience that for me as a white woman is relatively new. History tells us that freedom is not inherent and must be worked toward. In the same way that white supremacy benefits no one, we are not free until everyone is. How can we claim true freedom if it isn’t accessible for those around us? That imposes a hierarchy of liberation in that it is available to some of us, a concept that at its core seems antithetical to the components of freedom. When I think of freedom, I think of the ability to dream unhindered and to have the agency, dignity, and access to the logistical necessities to orient my life so that it aligns with that dream. I think of the times I have felt most free: moments that are bittersweet in nature, moments I am proud of, moments that recognize all the steps it took to get there. Those moments look different for so many of us, especially those in our community for whom so much of that road is constructed and confined by others who don’t have empathy, love, and equity in mind.
In the context of this work, I view freedom as my ability to maneuver and navigate life on my own terms. To come and go as I please and to not be beholden to a higher power, which is different than being accountable to myself and to others. In thinking about these aspects of freedom, I am immediately reminded of a trip I took a few years back to Suriname. I was drinking coffee in the capital city of Paramaribo, and asked a woman who lived there how I could get to visit the jungles in the interior of the country. She told me that if I was asking her at that moment I likely wouldn’t be able to go because of the immense planning required. Most of the interior jungle was inhabited by current day maroon communities, descendants of maroon communities from the time of enslavement.
These folx, maroons, were self-liberated enslaved peoples who formed their own communities in the outskirts of society, often in harsh environmental conditions that protected them from the enslavers who were looking for them. These formerly enslaved folx often took up residence with Indigenous groups and others (some white folx, for example, who were running from indentured servitude). The Surinamese woman explained that for me to enter into the interior, I would need advanced permission from the person or group in charge of these communities, and that was something not so easily secured. She told me a story about their self-liberated ancestors, sometimes called “fugitive” formerly enslaved folx who ran away from the Dutch colonizers of the time. She said that the maroons would raid plantations, or forced labor camps, and murder the enslavers, beheading them and placing their heads in the river so that other enslavers down river would know the extent of the threat. When that happened, enslavers would arm enslaved folx and send them into the swampy, dangerous areas of the jungle to capture the maroons. Obviously, those armed enslaved folx would defect and become maroons themselves, providing arms and training. The Dutch, caught up in the erroneous and violent mindset that enslaved folx enjoyed their enslavement, didn’t assume that they would run toward freedom at the first chance possible.
(An early map of the Great Dismal Swamp, found here.)
The deeply embedded desire for freedom in the form of “marronage” was not unique to Suriname. It wasn’t until recently that I learned of maroon communities based in the US, and particularly in a stretch of land on the border between North Carolina and Virginia called the Great Dismal Swamp. Before we talk about the swamp, let’s more accurately define “maroon”, or “marronage.” Marcus Nevius, an historian and scholar on the Great Dismal Swamp and the author of “City of Refuge: Slavery and Petit Marronage in the Great Dismal Swamp 1763-1856” calls marronage, “The most pervasive form of fugitive slave and community formation, resistance, negotiation, and enslaver accommodation in the history of the Atlantic world.” I have also heard the term “maroon” as synonymous with “flight”, which I find particularly beautiful. The origin of the word “maroon” is believed to have come from the Spanish word “cimarrón”, which typically refers to wild animals. The word could also have indigenous Arawak or Taino roots, as well as French roots. While initially referring to animals and not actual humans, the maroon community has for the most part, according to what I’ve learned, embraced the term as their descriptor. “Grand marronage” often refers to large scale, long-term colonies of maroons (such as those living in Suriname), who may have sovereign land claims and perhaps signed treaties with colonizers. “Petit marronage” often refers to smaller scale, more mobile groups of maroons.
In the 17th, 18th, and 19th Centuries, the Great Dismal Swamp, sometimes called Dismal, was a large swath of swampland comprising about a million acres of peat bogs, dark water, snakes, bears, panthers, and stinging bugs. Now, the swamp is a wildlife refuge of roughly 112,000 acres. In 1607, colonizers believed the swamp to be haunted, and by 1620, self-liberated folx were living there. Let’s think on that for a minute. For as long as enslaved folx were being trafficked into the US (which began in 1619), they were running away, putting up massive resistance endeavors, and freeing themselves. What did you learn about the resistance of enslaved folx? There was this undercurrent narrative that enslaved folx were docile and mostly kept their heads down with a few acts of rebellion, such as Nat Turner’s rebellion or the development of the Underground Railroad. As the below video describes, enslaved folx were a formidable, relentless, and revolutionary group from the very beginning. Self-sufficiency, self-determination, and choice were fought over, sought after, and achieved in an otherwise dehumanizing and violent context. I don’t really know what can be more hopeful than that.
Dismal had been occupied long before maroon communities arrived, with some archaeological evidence dating to its use as hunting grounds for Native Americans more than 5,000 years ago. As for the maroon communities, it’s believed that thousands of formerly enslaved folx made their home in the Great Dismal Swamp – some perhaps permanently, and some moving through. It was part of the Underground Railroad and with the vegetation as thick and dangerous as it was, enslavers and law enforcement did not have much desire to enter the swamp to search for and capture formerly enslaved people. Some believe that the Swamp was mostly mobile, with units of two or three maroons living together on what are called “mesic islands”, or large plateaus of drier land jutting up from the swampland. They made temporary shelters that could be easily relocated in the event that they had to run to safer territory. Some of these mesic islands were as large as 30 acres, which could have housed neighborhoods and small communities of maroons.
The reason that so much of Dismal’s history is unknown shouldn’t come as a surprise. There aren’t too many firsthand accounts from self-liberated Black folx who lived in Dismal, with the exception of the narrative of Moses Grandy, a formerly enslaved man who lived in the swamp at the beginning of the 19th Century. Further, there aren’t too many large archeological remnants of these communities, perhaps because they were highly mobile, or perhaps because the acidic water consumed some of the structures. Some have found small weapons, gun flint, and remnants of hunted animals. Take a listen to this podcast, which dives into the archaeology of maroon communities and the politics, which they aptly call “circular logic”, about what the lack of archeological remains signifies: the lack of remains means that the community wasn’t large or notable, which in turn means that this community isn’t worth studying, which then limits funding to the studying of the remains and also limits the ways in which we view and understand the Dismal maroon communities, which the further fuels the idea that they aren’t worth studying. White Supremacy is everywhere.
(A current day photo of what remains of the Great Dismal Swamp. Found here.)
It’s believed that some maroon communities raided nearby plantations and small towns for provisions and to assist enslaved folx in joining them. Given this lack of primary sources and the ways in which history is written from the perspective of and for the protection of those in power, descriptions of maroon communities are traditionally less about who the maroons actually were and more about the fear they instilled in enslavers. In this interview, Marcus Nevius talks about how he had to listen to the silences of what was written to glean information that wasn’t directly there in order provide a textured and more alive account of what went on in the Great Dismal Swamp. Something that stood out for me was when Nevius mentioned that some historians believed that maroon communities in Dismal communicated via waterways or by sending runners to and from communities to alert others to potential danger or to let them know where supplies were. There is some evidence that this communication flowed away from the swamp as well, providing knowledge networks between maroon and enslaved communities about potential rebellions. Those involved in a few such rebellions, including Gabriel’s conspiracy in Virginia in 1800, were believed to have used the swamp’s waterways to hide and form resistance groups.
(A famous sketch of a man named Osman, a formerly enslaved man in Dismal, found here.)
I wonder about freedom in the context of brutality, where ownership over others, property, and capital seems to rule how we engage with our own communities. We have a long way to go, but I know that I would like to live in a world in which everyone experiences self-determination, autonomy, and liberty without the constraints of the oppressive structures we still live under. I am so grateful for what these maroon communities did, for what their descendants continue to do, and for how they led the march toward freedom from the very beginning of enslavement. Another mark of our educational system, aside from believing that enslaved folx rarely rebelled, is the belief that because enslavement happened so long ago those who were impacted by it are frozen in that time period. Descendants of the Dismal maroon communities exist today and are fighting to expand the Great Dismal Swamp refuge and provide educational outreach about its significance. Take a look at the work of the Great Dismal Swamp Stakeholder Collaborative. I hope that you take some time to read the links I’ve provided above, and to consider what freedom means to you now and how that idea has changed over time for you and your community.
Additional Resources:
Maroon communities weren’t the only folx in the Great Dismal Swamp. In the mid-1700s, white venture capitalists formed the Dismal Swamp Land Company. George Washington was one of the original founders, and spent some time managing the company which enslaved around 60 folx, some of whom escaped into the swamp.
Check out the book Freewater, by Amina Luqman-Dawson. It’s a fictional novel about two enslaved children who run away and find a home among the maroon communities of the Great Dismal Swamp.
