Part One

The Middle Passage is a pictorial that showcases the atrocities committed in Africa by

European slave traders. Tom Feelings, the artist behind this work, was an African-American

activist, illustrator, author, and teacher. As a child growing up in the civil rights movement, he

was determined to dedicate himself to sharing with the world the beauty of “blackness.” In a

1985 interview, he stated the following about his catalog: "I bring to my work a quality which is

rooted in the culture of Africa and expanded by the experience of being black in America."

Feelings also spent a fair bit of time in Tema, a Ghanian city. While he was there, he did work for

the Nkrumah government, on their magazine African Review. Feelings’ aim was to provide the

children of Africa positive images of themselves. From this, we can infer that this pictorial is a

reliable source of information when regarding the injustice endured by the African people, which

unfortunately rings true today.

This pictorial includes images of enslavement. It depicts the inhumane treatment the

African captives endured--such as: being packed into boats like sardines, being force-fed to

prevent suicide by starvation, being dragged, having to live in the same space as the

decomposing body of someone they knew, being separated from their families, being beaten into

submission, being stripped of their clothes, being branded with hot iron, being forced to march

long distances as they are tied up, and making the decision to jump overboard and drown. But it

does leave out the sickness. We can infer this from some of the images, but it does not show the

true extent of the enclosures--that they were not given bathrooms and were forced to lie in their

filth, which made disease spread. It also does not show the lack of oxygen, sometimes not

enough for a candle to burn. Or that their bodies were not used to the European food, and
sometimes not able to digest it, which only made the aforementioned problem worse. Or that the

women were often raped. Or that the captives were forced to dance to keep them fit. Point is, the

true extent of the vile events that took place span far and wide. While The Middle Passage does a

good job at illustrating the injustice, it does not cover everything.

I’d say that this pictorial is a useful tool, because it illustrates the gruesome events which

took place in detail. It does not censor nakedness, nor brutality, nor wickedness. It does not make

any written comments on what took place, but rather simply shows the truth. It does not spoon

feed the reader a conclusion, but lets them digest it, sit with it, then reconcile with the past in

their own way. The images shown are powerful, and I would certainly recommend showing it to

anyone who may not be aware of the true extent to which the slave traders terrorized the

continent of Africa. I will certainly be showing my future child(ren) this once they are of age to

understand such a thing, since this may not be talked about in their history class (at least not to

the level at which this book shows). What I believe the illustrations do extremely well is the lack

of color, as a way to get across the ideas more clearly. The film ‘Schindler’s List’ does this same

thing, and I wonder if Feeling’s book inspired that decision. In said movie, the monochrome lens

works to focus the audience’s attention on the actions taking place--so that they do not get

distracted by scenery that would otherwise by pleasing to the eye. Because frankly, there was no

beauty in the actions taking place. And it is important for viewers of that film to understand that.

In the same vein, Tom Feelings’ The Middle Passage does not include color, as if to emphasize

the contrasting skin colors of the traders, and the people of Africa, now turned captives.

This pictorial tells us that the dominant powers of this time were more concerned with

development and wealth than ethics. This is unfortunately still true today, but nowhere near the

same extent that it was. We thankfully now have people in place to check their power, and to
make sure that something like this never, ever, happens again. This pictorial at least begged the

question for me, as “why?” Why were the traders okay with doing this? But the answer is also

unfortunately tied to the future events of World War Two. We beg the question “why did the

German citizens sit around and do nothing while the soldiers murdered the Jewish people?” or

say “certainly, I would have done something.” But in almost every case, this is not true. Like

German citizens of that time, the European citizens were fed knowledge of nationalism and

superiority. Simultaneously, they were told that the Africans were “less than them,” or perhaps

more accurately, “less than humans.” And once that became the popular sentiment, who was to

go against that, at the risk of chastisement? This parallels the German citizens during that later

time, with them being told lies of Jewish crimes against their nation, and extreme nationalism.

Again, the statement may remain of “well, we wouldn’t do anything like this today,”

when that is unfortunately also untrue. A teacher by the name of Jane Elliot conducted an

experiment in response to this very statement back in 1970. She divided the class into groups

based on eye color. She told the students that people with blue eyes were smarter, faster, and

overall better humans than their brown counterparts. To further this, the blue-eyed students were

given special privileges, such as staying out for recess longer. In response to this, the blue-eyed

students behaved in a disturbingly similar way to the racists of the Jim Crow era, or german

citizens of the World War Two era. And when the roles were reversed, with brown eyes being

told they are, in fact, the actual smartest, fastest, and best humans, the same exact thing occurred.

This goes to show that humans are a tribal species. We like to be part of a group--usually the

dominant. And as a result, we sometimes turn a blind eye to whom this hurts. Connecting this

back to the episode of history shown in this pictorial, we can see that it was a more primitive
time. Still a time of the conquerors and the conquered. A time without many international laws.

And a time of mass displacement and pillaging of the African culture.

One problem that may arise with this style is that it does not do enough for some people.

Pictures may not be enough to convey the real suffering Africans endured. Some illustrations,

such as the one of captives jumping overboard, are not clear without context. Without prior

knowledge, one may think that they were doing that to escape their captors. In fairness, they

were doing just that, only not in the way one may guess. In jumping off the boat, bound by

chains, they were knowingly ending their lives. They weighed the options, and decided that

death was preferable to serving under colonizers. Without this information, the illustration is not

as impactful. Even still, it is one that I will reference in the future.

Part Two

I am Ntonni, a person of the Asante nation. My mother once told me that my name means

“hero.” But I have a hard time believing that I live up to it. My life has been pleasant and without

much stress outside of my daily chores. I have a few friends whom I will frequently spend time

with in the town. But in one instance of darkness, all of this was ripped away from me.

My friends and I were having a good time together as usual, when our vision was

suddenly pulled to a darkness growing larger in the water. I saw many shapes protruding out of

it, like an animal. As it got closer, I realized that it was a ship, yet none like I had ever seen

before. The ship pulled up to the coast, and sooner than I could imagine, white-skinned humans

poured out from the vessel, and began shouting words I did not yet understand. We started

hearing screams and cries before long, and took this as a command to run. I ran back to my home
as quickly as I could to tell my family what was happening at the coast. We hid in our home as

best we could, but before long, the invaders had kicked our door down and wrangled us into their

chains. My mother tried to put up a fight, but was lashed with a barred whip. I screamed out in a

panic, little to the care of our new captors. With tears streaming down my face, I thought it all

had to be a sick nightmare.

No attempt was made at explaining what was happening. We were told a simple

command: move. And anyone that made a move not designated by the white-skinned were

beaten. Most of us took head of that warning, but one woman was not about to quit the

resistance. She began screaming in the face of her captor, saying “how could you do this to us?

Why would you commit such violence to another human? This isn't right!” Upon laying a hand

on him, the white man pulled out his weapon and ended her life. As she lay lifeless on the

ground, I could hear shrieks emitting from the bloodied maw of her presumed family. A few

invaders unchained her body, and threw her to the side. The command was given once more, and

we moved, with a deficit of hope, and a profound sense of disbelief.

As we approached the large vessel, the men prodded us into tighter groups. We were then

pushed up a wooden ramp to our new home--a tight, damp enclosure without any windows. Our

captors pushed us in as far as we could go, much to our displeasure. Many of us were forced to

fold ourselves into inhuman shapes in order to fit. And for the next twelve hours, this was our

reality. Together, yet alone. As time moved, a few of us started having trouble breathing. Cries

erupted, but they were met with no answer. Tears were cried when we realized they were not

giving us a space to relieve ourselves. The smell of filth quickly filled our enclosure, and many

vomited. I did not get any sleep.

commanded us again to move. We did not understand until being physically punished that they

wanted us to dance. Be it for amusement or to keep us fit, I did not know. But I do know that it

was humiliating. They took us from our home, our culture, our families, our happiness. And now

they want us to do something that should be reserved for times of joy. After this was said and

done, they laid before us some nourishment. It was very different from what we were used to,

and as a result, many of us could not stomach it. A few of us even refused to eat, choosing

starvation over submitting to the monsters that had taken them. That’s when those men appeared

with a tool which opened the mouth, and forced food down their throats. It was evident that they

wanted us alive, but were none the more caring of our well-being beyond that.

They then took out a different tool--a metal rod with a blazing tip. One-by-one, we were

struck on the side, our skins burned to reveal a pattern of ownership. Those who fought back

were silenced, restrained, and punished. This was truly hell, yet none that we deserved. This was

evil incarnate. After seeing the insurmountable might of our captors, it became obvious that there

were few options left. Looking down at my chains which bounded my humanity, I decided I want

to go home. I looked in the swollen eyes of my neighbor, and fixed my gaze on the bright sky

line. In one swift motion, I left the group they put us in, and ran to the edge of the boat. Without

a second thought, I lept off into the dark depths. In the water, I began to sink. In my last view of

light, I saw many brothers and sisters taking after my example, choosing this route home. Never

again will I be held a prisoner to these cruel men. Never again will I have to see the suffering of

my friends. Because I’m coming home.