Wood Kirsten Gender and Slavery (2010)

Gender and Slavery
Gender and Slavery

Kirsten E. Wood
The Oxford Handbook of Slavery in the Americas
Edited by Mark M. Smith and Robert L. Paquette
Print Publication Date: Jul 2010

Subject: History, Gender and Sexuality, Slavery and Abolition of Slavery
Online Publication Date: Sep 2012 DOI: 10.1093/oxfordhb/9780199227990.013.0024
Abstract and Keywords
In the last three decades, gender has become an indispensable category of analysis in the
study of slavery in the Americas, illuminating both the day-to-day lives of enslaved and
enslaving peoples and ideas about race and slavery. While studying gender means much
more than studying women, the literature on enslaved women is especially influential, in
part because of gender analysis's origins in women's history and in part because of
women's central importance in slavery: women and ideas about them shaped slavery from
beginning to end. This article discusses the origins of slavery, the gendered division of
slave labour, reproduction in slavery, sexuality, enslaved families, black femininity and
masculinity, mastery and white gender identities, and politics.
Keywords: slaves, enslaved women, gender analysis, slave labour, reproduction, sexuality, femininity, white gen
der identity, politics
IN the last three decades, gender has become an indispensable category of analysis in the
study of slavery in the Americas, illuminating both the day‐to‐day lives of enslaved and
enslaving peoples and ideas about race and slavery.1 While gender has touched nearly all
aspects of slavery studies, the application of gender analysis has been particularly fruitful
in certain areas. Some are self‐evidently gendered, like family, reproduction, and sex.
Gender analysis has also reconfigured the study of politics, and, as is increasingly clear,
studying gender means much more than studying women. Still, the literature on enslaved
women is especially influential, in part because of gender analysis's origins in women's
history and in part because of women's central importance in slavery: women and ideas
about them shaped slavery from beginning to end.
Origins of Slavery
Gender helped early European explorers and settlers to imagine that Africans (and Native
Americans) were distinctly “other” and that these “others” could—and should—be en
slaved. Barbara Bush and Jennifer Morgan have shown that references to African
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Gender and Slavery
women's exposed breasts dominated European texts, denoting (p. 514) animalistic behav
iors and lusts to authors and readers alike. Easy parturition, meanwhile, suggested that
African women did not share in Eve's curse, and thus that Europeans need not treat
Africans as fellow children of Adam and Eve. Europeans also believed that polygamy and
female agriculture proved African women's degradation and, correspondingly, the superi
ority of European culture. (While many European women performed farm labor, elite Eu
ropeans often viewed it as normatively masculine work.) Together, African labor patterns,
familial organization, and bodies not only made Europeans feel superior but also focused
their attention on African women's sexuality and reproductive potential.2
Gender shaped the laws defining hereditary slavery in both conception and consequence.
The legal prescription that an enslaved woman's child was also a slave both ignored chil
dren with free mothers and enslaved fathers and essentially erased black paternity in
white eyes. The “partus sequitur ventrem” principle also made interracial sex an aspect
of slavery de facto and de jure. As Hilary Beckles has observed, “non pecuniary returns”
to slave owning, “including rape and other forms of physical assault,” could be extracted
from slaves without legal or social “penalties,” especially in English and American slav
ery.3
Even before the hereditary principle, gender shaped colonial experiments with race and
slavery. In Virginia, a 1641 law decreed that all men and all “negro women” 16 or older
were subject to a new poll tax. This grouping reflected gendered ideas about work: it
comprised all the people that lawmakers considered full‐time agricultural workers.
African women were known to perform agricultural work in Africa, and they clearly did in
Virginia, but English women were not supposed to be (in both senses) field workers. Vir
ginians thus fumbled toward a legal definition of race through their ideas about women's
work. While gender traced a path toward slavery and race in Virginia, in Georgia, slavery
reshaped gender. Georgia's founders expected English women to perform commodity pro
duction, as well as domestic work and childrearing. African women in the early colony
likewise performed diverse tasks. Within fifty years, however, most female slaves per
formed monotonous work that whites considered unskilled; middling and poor women
had few remaining socioeconomic “niches”; and privileged elites did almost no manual
work at all.4
The Gendered Division of Slave Labor

Planters across the Americas forced enslaved women and men to perform exhausting
work in the fields with little regard for sex. In the West Indies, slaves were assigned to
the first (or “great”), second, or trash gang depending primarily on (p. 515) strength and
age or life stage rather than sex. In the United States, planters often measured all slaves
against the standard of the “prime” slave. Thus, a strong woman might be a three‐quarter
hand, while an old man or a pregnant woman might be a half hand.5 Working in sex‐mixed
groups did not, however, erase gender. For example, planters typically assigned children
of both sexes to the trash gang. Because the trash gang also contained elderly, heavily
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pregnant, and breastfeeding women, time served there helped socialize girls but not boys
into adult gender roles. Moreover, while Caribbean women sometimes drove the second
gang, and older women there and in the United States ran the trash gang, women rarely
drove the great gangs. This preserved men's privileged access to supervisory and discipli
nary labor.6 Equally important, slave societies embraced a profound division of labor be
tween enslaved and white women: enslaved women were expected to show strength and
stamina in the fields, while white women ideally did little or no outdoors work.
Beyond the fields, gender continued to shape work. Enslaved men occupied almost all oc
cupations that either they or whites considered as skilled. Men were the mechanics,
blacksmiths, carpenters, coopers, masons, carters, carriage drivers, sugar makers, boiler
men, and furnacemen. The most highly skilled bondsmen enjoyed some prestige and re
ceived extra rations and authority over other slaves. Some also enjoyed much greater
freedom of movement: an artisan might be hired out and make his own way from job to
job. Women had a smaller range of skilled crafts, like cooking, midwifery, and nursing,
and those few conferred less prestige and fewer material rewards on their practitioners
than male crafts did upon men, and little or no added mobility. Whites did not consider
domestic work—the most common female specialization—as skilled, although house ser
vants sometimes gained privileged access to whites' used clothes and leftover food. Defin
ing skill as the ability to do any task well, Daina Berry has recently argued that planters
did recognize the skills of certain field women, narrowing the perceptual gap between
skillful workers and skilled occupations. Overall, however, the older findings of Deborah
Gray White, Hilary Beckles, Jacqueline Jones, and Marietta Morrissey, among many oth
ers, still hold: women had little access to skilled occupations, and a higher proportion of
women than men were field workers. On some estates, women made up the majority of
the field‐hands.7
Historians have sometimes seemed uncertain whether these patterns stemmed from
ideas about sexual difference or from sexual differences themselves. Jacqueline Jones has
suggested that planters excluded women from skilled occupations for pragmatic reasons:
“the high cost of specialized and extensive training” made it impractical to train women,
since “childbearing and nursing” would interrupt their ability to provide “regular service”
on the plantation or be hired out profitably. However, a substantial proportion of enslaved
women never had children. If practical factors alone shaped access to skilled work, then
some of these women would have been eligible. Their continued exclusion indicates that
gender impeded a purely pragmatic response to reproductive biology.8
Gender also shaped slaves' “after‐hours” work. The tasks that men and women
(p. 516)
performed for themselves and their families differed. Typically, women cooked, cleaned,
sewed, and washed for their families. In the West Indies where slaves had to grow their
own provisions, women also performed much of the subsistence horticulture as well.
Everywhere, women did most of the childcare. Only women had post‐sundown orders to
spin for their owners. In contrast, men fished, hunted, and made or repaired furniture. If
they lived “abroad,” they usually commuted to visit wives and children. They also applied
their greater opportunities to earn money or goods to their families' benefit. In the West
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Indies, many assisted in the provision grounds. Yet no one has called men's work for their
families a “second shift,” as feminist historians have characterized enslaved women's ex
tra work.9
Forcing enslaved women and men to work at the same tasks “de‐gendered” neither sex.
While slaves may have worked too hard to notice whether the neighboring bodies were
male or female, we know that slaves' supervisors—white and black—not only noticed but
also perceived some individuals as sexually attractive, available, and vulnerable. Women,
not men, were overwhelmingly the targets of drivers' and overseers' sexual opportunism.
Only an artificially narrow understanding would remove this aspect of gender relations
from considerations of slaves' fieldwork. It is equally important to note that gender is con
stituted not solely through contrasts between men and women, but also through con
trasts among men and among women. Thus, as long as some women, like slave owning
women or enslaved housekeepers, did not perform fieldwork alongside men, enslaved
women who did had a distinct gender in relationship to other women.10 The same, of
course, applies to enslaved men, and thus there were many genders, not just two.
Reproduction
As Richard Steckel's essay in this collection suggests, work on reproduction in slavery be
gins with demography, which illuminates the reproductive catastrophes of American slav
ery. Staggering rates of infant mortality, low fertility, and low fecundity meant that
Africans and their descendants in the Caribbean did not experience natural population
growth until after slavery, yet those in Barbados, the southern mainland British colonies,
and the United States did. Many factors in this pattern were beyond slaves' control, such
as malaria, overwork, grossly inadequate pre‐ and postnatal care, malnutrition, neonatal
tetanus, venereal disease. Sex ratios are not, however, considered quite so definitive as
they once were, in part because of changing information about sex ratios early in slavery,
and in part (p. 517) because normal sex ratios did not automatically mean population
growth. That slave owners used the sex ratio to account for low fertility is further reason
to be wary of that explanation. Generally, planters in the major staple‐producing areas,
especially sugar planters, cared little and did less to improve fertility and reduce infant
mortality. It was, quite simply, cheaper and easier to buy new slaves and work them quite
literally to death than to rely on childbirth to increase and reproduce the labor force.
Even in British North America, where slave populations grew through natural reproduc
tion from the mid‐eighteenth century or earlier, there is little evidence that planters were
particularly consistent or successfully instrumental.11
By the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries, colonies across the Caribbean
launched amelioration campaigns to fend off abolitionists' attacks and stabilize the slave
labor supply. Giving pregnant and postpartum women a respite from work, improved ra
tions, and other incentives might have improved outcomes for both mothers and children,
but slave owners sometimes boasted more than their choices actually warranted. Even af
ter the British closed the Atlantic slave trade, Caribbean planters generally had far more
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success in extracting field than reproductive labor from their bondswomen. However, re
cent work inverts the common view that enslaved women were always workers first, and
reproducers second. Jennifer Morgan argues that even though enslaved women's treat
ment in Barbados and South Carolina impeded both fertility and infant survival, women's
reproductive potential shaped planters' ideas about Africans from the very start. In their
wills, slave owners fantasized about future wealth, bequeathing not just living children
and fetuses but also women's reproductive potential itself. Because both slave owners
and enslaved women recognized the potential value of reproduction, contestation over re
production was a constant.12 Taken together, the many local and regional studies of slave
reproduction suggest that the exploitation of women's reproductive potential was always
a subject of contestation in New World slavery, even in the many instances when planters
did little to help enslaved women conceive, bear, and raise healthy children.
Sexuality
Through interracial rape, white men asserted their dominance over African and African‐
American men, as well as over all women. While the fact of interracial sexual exploitation
has long been acknowledged—having featured largely in abolitionist propaganda, for ex
ample—its impact on gender as well as race relations is a topic of relatively recent study.
Endemic throughout New World slavery and its aftermath, rape and sexual fan
(p. 518)
tasies were particularly virulent in the Atlantic and internal slave trades. Edward Baptist
observes that enslaved women in the antebellum South were “desirable purchases be
cause they could be raped,” and they were exquisitely “vulnerable to sexual assault…be
cause they could be sold.” He argues further that by raping light‐skinned women, ante
bellum whites could recapitulate centuries of white domination, suggesting that the fanta
sy and reality of abuse grew more potent, not less, over time. The overarching claim,
however, about the centrality of sexual exploitation to slavery pertains throughout its
New World history. Consequently, even sexual acts between slaves could take on the stink
of coercion. As Thelma Jennings argued in 1990 and as Daina Berry has recently con
firmed, when slave owners instructed two slaves to pair off, they coerced both men and
women to perform sexual acts not of their own choosing. At the same time, some en
slaved men were potential beneficiaries of breeding: some planters encouraged high‐sta
tus men, such as drivers, to father children with whichever bondswomen they fancied.
Freedpeople's own testimony suggests that some bondsmen took full advantage of the
privilege. In its varied forms, sexual coercion did a lot of work for slaveholders: it pro
duced new chattels; it marked all slaves' inferiority; it terrorized enslaved women and
many enslaved men; and it humiliated and brainwashed many white women, all in ways
that reinforced both gender and racial hierarchy.13
Even long after the institution ended, fears related to sexuality and race continued to
warp gender relations. A classic example comes from the early twentieth‐century US
South, where Thomas Dixon's novels featuring black men as rapists helped reinforce Jim
Crow, mask the continued sexual abuse of freedwomen, and uphold patriarchy: white
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women allegedly remained safe from interracial assault only as long as they accepted
white men's protective custody.14 As Jacquelyn Dowd Hall has argued, the subsequent
campaign against lynching also became, at least in part, a “revolt against chivalry.”15
Yet while the history of sexuality within slavery is a twisted and ugly story, it was also
more than that, even for enslaved women who bore the worst of it. As Henrice Altink and
others have argued, some enslaved women chose to enter sexual relationships with white
men in the hope of “material favours,” or simply because they found reluctant acquies
cence preferable to forcible rape.16 Overall, these women had but slim chance of gaining
their own or their children's freedom, and Deborah Gray White has argued that their
choice made it harder for others to resist. In the Old South, such relationships rarely re
sulted in tangible advantages for enslaved women and their children. In Jamaica, as Hi
lary Beckles has shown, the scarcity of English women made it common for enslaved
women to act as housekeeper‐mistresses to the resident planters, but a housekeeper
rarely got to choose whether she would also be a concubine. Manumitting one's sexual
partner and children was most common in the Spanish West Indies. In the French
colonies, planters regularly ignored the Code Noir's requirement that they emancipate
their (p. 519) own enslaved children. Across the slave societies, urban areas witnessed an
especially wide range of interracial sex, ranging from long‐term relationships between
elite men and their bondswomen to casual encounters in brothels and taverns.17
If consent is a difficult topic in the context of slavery, it is arguably even more difficult to
speak of sexual pleasure. Yet neither patriarchal social relations, nor the violent expropri
ation of labor, nor the classifying of people as things or animals could reserve sexual plea
sure for the men of the master class alone. Stephanie Camp's “somatic” understanding of
slavery acknowledges enslaved women's pleasure in fancy clothes, flirtation, and furious
dancing, and allows for the possibility of pleasure in sex. Cynthia Kennedy's attention to
enslaved and free people of color's own understandings of marriage—legal or not—simi
larly hints at intimacies both consensual and pleasurable.18 While challenging from an ev
identiary standpoint, more work on these issues will help determine how sexual abuse af
fected enslaved men's and women's subsequent sexual experiences and identities, work
which will complement Darlene Clark Hine's conclusions about the long‐term impact of
enslaved women's sexual vulnerability on freedwomen's gender identities.19 Increased at
tention to sexuality among slave couples—self‐chosen and coerced—will also advance our
understanding of enslaved families.
Enslaved Families
Much as efforts to document sexual pleasure must struggle against the nearly crushing
weight of scholarship on sexual abuse, the much older historiography of slave families
has long battled against the presumption that improper gender relations all but de
stroyed the possibility of cohesive families among the enslaved. Arguing against the pre
sumption of domineering mothers and absent or weak fathers, most famously articulated
in the 1965 Moynihan report, John Blassingame and Herbert Gutman argued in the early
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1970s that fathers were emotionally and materially central, and that extended kinship
networks, fictive kin, and male‐headed nuclear families were all key elements of slave
families.20 In the 1980s, Jacqueline Jones and Deborah Gray White systematically disman
tled the sexist assumption that families headed by women were necessarily dysfunctional.
They argued that women's networks were as important as conjugal ties to slaves, that
slave marriages involved comparative equality and complementarity, and that many moth
ers had to be the primary caretaker because their families lacked a regularly present fa
ther at all due to the custom of abroad marriage.21
In the 1990s, scholars of American slave families continued to debate family composition
while still rejecting the idea of matriarchy. Ann Malone argued that in (p. 520) Louisiana,
the frequency of nuclear families, married couples, single slaves, and mother‐headed fam
ilies varied over time and largely reflected extrinsic factors like the stage of agricultural
development and planter life cycles. Working in Virginia, Brenda Stevenson viewed en
slaved women as key elements of families and communities: slave owners' refusal to pro
tect conjugal and paternal ties meant that many slave families were perforce matrifocal.22
In addition to elaborating family structure, American historians have also explored slaves'
ideas about family, documenting what Cynthia Kennedy has called a “counter‐ideal” to
white nuclearity. In this, they echo Caribbeanists who have long noted the importance of
West African precedents for both female autonomy and polygamy in shaping gender rela
tions, family dynamics, and household composition.23 Now, gender has clearly become an
analytical tool in studies of slave family, instead of a problem to be explained away.
Resistance
Resistance has been a particularly fruitful area of research in slavery studies, but its rela
tionship to gender is ambiguous. Clearly, certain types of resistance were more common
among bondsmen than bondswomen. Men made up a significantly higher percentage of
runaways than did women, and men also figured far more prominently among rebels in
both the USA and the Caribbean. Those actions, meanwhile, have often been celebrated,
while more covert activities are sometimes deemed “accommodation” rather than gen
uine resistance. Compounding the problem of understanding gender and resistance is
that many more covert forms, like feigning sickness and working slowly, were available to
women and men. Where scholars have associated types of resistance with one sex, like
poisoning with women, it remains unclear whether the pattern reflects the gendered divi
sion of labor, a gendered affinity, or other factors. Yet clear evidence of gendered resis
tance is emerging. Caribbean scholars like Bernard Moitt and David Geggus have demon
strated women's crucial support for rebellions; for example, women in revolutionary‐era
Saint‐Domingue traded sex for ammunition. Other recent scholarship has sharpened our
understanding of gender's role in more covert aspects of direct resistance. Stephanie
Camp argues that enslaved women in the antebellum South provided essential food and
supplies to runaways, hid truants, and even helped negotiate the terms of their return to
work. Their assistance depended in turn upon the gendered division of labor: women's
typical confinement to the plantation's ambit meant that they were often available when a
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runaway needed assistance, while their part‐chosen and part‐imposed responsibility

(p. 521) for cooking allowed them to decide whether and how often to redirect food to a
hungry truant.24
Perhaps the most obviously gendered resistance involved reproduction. Some enslaved
women deliberately resisted childbearing for reasons ranging from the refusal to enrich
their owners to the unwillingness to reproduce bondage. Slaves and slave owners alike
suggested that women used a variety of methods to control their fertility: abstinence;
herbal birth control; herbal and mechanical abortion; and, finally, infanticide. A combina
tion of contraception and postnatal abstinence best explains birth spacing of up to and
even over two years, which cannot be explained by lactation and postpartum amenorrhea
alone. Ex‐slaves—men and women—testified to deliberate contraception to deprive own
ers of additional capital and labor. Contraception was arguably gendered resistance for
men as well as for women: while some enslaved men may have prided themselves on fa
thering many children—with many different mothers—others supported or even encour
aged their wives' efforts to limit their families. Still, no one can estimate with any certain
ty the frequency or scale of enslaved men's and women's efforts to control their own re
productive lives. Similarly, it is impossible to determine how often women shammed ob
stetric and gynecological complaints, given the variety of genuine diseases and injuries
and the complicated mix of African and European attitudes about bodily health and med
ical care.25
If historians hold up contraception as a form of resistance, they often have more trouble
with infanticide. Slaveholders accused women of heedlessly smothering their infants, a
kind of murder by neglect that confirmed whites' lowest opinions of enslaved women. Ac
cordingly, some historians have hesitated to accept the diagnosis of infanticide, while oth
ers, like Sharon Ann Holt and Deborah Gray White, argue for benevolent motives and
sympathetic interpretations: desperate but loving mothers murdered their children in or
der to spare them lives of bondage. Alternatively, some suggest that infanticide is not a
helpful analytical category. Barbara Bush notes the belief, perhaps rooted in West African
cultures, that babies only became fully human after their ninth day ex utero, which would
imply that hastening death before that time involved something less prejudicial.26
Moreover, biological motherhood was not magical, as Jennifer Morgan has recently ar
gued, and presupposing mother‐love minimizes the psychological impact of bondage, sex
ual abuse, and overwork that enslaved women in particular faced, especially those up
rooted by the Atlantic or internal slave trades. It also trivializes the heroism that enslaved
women—and men—displayed in daring to love, nurture, and protect their children. In this
sense, attention to gynecological resistance brings us back to a related observation about
slave families. Forming families, whether by marriage, birth, or adoption, strengthened
slaves and enabled some to continue and extend their resistance. However, the very
virtues of family also meant they gave slave owners a powerful hold over their bondspeo
ple, which some found far more effective than the use or threat of whippings.27
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(p. 522) Black Femininity28

Historians of enslaved women have long struggled to distinguish white stereotypes of
nurturing Mammy, aggressive Sapphire, and lustful Jezebel from slaves' own gender iden
tities. Arguments about whether women invested more significance in female networks or
in conjugal relations, or whether women performed skilled work, also affect debates
about women's identities.29 Compounding the difficulty of understanding enslaved women
as mothers, lovers, and workers are long‐standing questions about gender's priority for
women of the African diaspora. In the twentieth century, many African‐American women
identified more with the civil rights struggle than the women's rights movement. This re
flects both the historic racism of American feminism and the judgment that standing with
black men against racism was the first and the greater call. If racial justice took priority,
then perhaps racial identity did too. Some scholars have tried to theorize that as an es
sentially false question, because race and gender are mutually constitutive and inextrica
ble. The bulk of the evidence from slavery makes clear not only that black women and
men had more in common than black women and white women, but also that the gen
dered aspects of bondage must not be underestimated.30
Some of the most productive recent scholarship in this area takes a multiply relational ap
proach to gender, recognizing that gender meant something different for enslaved women
when they talked with their husbands at night, or hoed with other slaves in the fields, or
sewed clothes under their mistress's gaze. For an enslaved girl, puberty usually meant
both fieldwork and the possibility of interracial rape, perhaps even before her first flirta
tion with a fellow slave. If sexual maturity increased a girl's fear for herself, it also likely
enhanced her empathy for other women. It also afforded new opportunities for enjoy
ment: athletic dancing and fashionable clothes provided physical pleasure and, perhaps,
the recognition that nights spent dancing could be understood as labor power reclaimed
from their owners (sources are understandably stingy but nevertheless suggestive on this
point). Maternity, meanwhile, brought new dreads—of seeing one's children separated by
sale, lashed, demeaned, overworked, raped, or buried—but it also produced, at least for
some, a redoubled protectiveness for vulnerable children that may have made them work
even harder to resist their degrading bondage. At the same time, women at the peak of
their working lives could take pride in their skill even as they resented its exploitation.
Older women faced declining bodies that often rendered them less valuable in white eyes,
but their knowledge, whether of medicinal plants, conjuring, planters' moods, or mid
wifery, could make them figures of great esteem to other slaves and sometimes even to
whites. Life cycle, long a major area of analysis for free women, continues to attract
scholarly attention, even if the key transitions for free people, like coming of age and
marriage, operated very differently for slaves.31
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(p. 523) Black Masculinity

From John Blassingame's defense of black manhood in The Slave Community forward,
scholars have tried to unravel the stereotypes of African‐American men's emasculation
and hypermasculinity. Work on enslaved fathers' devotion to their families, expressed in
after‐hours work and “commuting” to abroad families, rejects equally the myth of absent
fathers and the myth of the feckless stud. In a different vein, Diane Miller Sommerville
has argued that the literal castration of enslaved men convicted of rape had surprisingly
little to do with fears of ravening black sexuality. Instead, it reflected a financial and agri
cultural logic: castration saved the colonial government money (because execution re
quired compensating the slave's owner), and it drew on the common knowledge that cas
trated bulls and horses became placid work animals. None of this was any comfort for the
men involved, but it is profoundly important for scholars trying to pin down black
masculinity's evolution in white eyes.32 Meanwhile, recognizing that slave breeding made
men and women “victims of reproductive abuse” is one way of attending to Bertram Wy
att‐Brown's warning that historians must examine “the social and psychological tensions
that slavery entailed.” Also important in this regard is the acknowledgment that some en
slaved men, especially powerful or influential men like drivers and conjurers, manipulat
ed and coerced female slaves sexually. The broader implications of sexual aggression for
black masculinity are somewhat ambiguous, for it remains to be determined exactly how
enslaved men in general viewed the matter.33
As for enslaved women, historians have identified a range of white stereotypes—Nat,

Sambo, Jack, and Uncle Tom—and a variety of lived black masculinities. Some enslaved
men cherished the rebel's heroic call to live free or die, even if they did not achieve it.
Others adopted the masculinity of the wanderer‐outlaw, who is essentially free because
he accepts no ties of obligation with others. Still others adopted an ethic of caring, often
anchored in a Christian conversion experience. So far, however, a single version of black
masculinity predominates in descriptions of the emancipation generations. African‐Ameri
cans in the Civil War, for example, staked their claims to full citizenship and manhood
alike on the grounds of military service and manly valor.34
Mastery and White Gender Identities

In many ways, white gender identities in New World slavery can be understood if not sim
ply the inverse of whatever whites said about enslaved men and women, then in part as
the longing to be that inverse. Thus, white women should be (p. 524) virtuous and pure,
while enslaved women were lustful and vicious. White men should be chivalrous and ra
tional, while enslaved men were either infantile or savage. But throughout New World
slavery, gender relations, roles, and identities among whites also looked beyond race to
questions of class. Thus, working‐class and poor white women in the North America, the
Caribbean, and Latin America often shared much of the stigma that attached to enslaved
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and Indian women, while white men's claims to masculinity depended at least in part on
their access to the property that would enable them to become householders.35
The linkage of race and class in white gender identity lies at the heart of mastery and
honor, two potently gendered belief systems among New World elites. Work on white
masculinity and mastery in the American South has been especially influential. The desire
for mastery profoundly shaped not only white men's relations with their slaves and family
members, but also their own identities. Mastery hinged on control over domestic depen
dants. At the extreme, this was always an impossible goal—because slaves, children, and
wives never became perfect channels for their master's will—but it predisposed many
white men to take resistance in any form as a personal affront. As Eugene Genovese has
suggested, the more paternalistic versions of mastery also prompted some planters, per
haps many, to chase the improbable goal of respectful affection from their bondspeople.
In some cases, masculinity became totally entangled not only with discipline but also with
commerce: purchasers gambled not just their money but also their masculinity on their
ability to judge slaves on the auction block. Gender imposed powerful and occasionally
dangerous constraints on white men. Some ingested powerful drugs in their campaign to
master everything, including their own bowels. Others let themselves be shot at in duels,
in the name of manly honor.36
While physical domination, sexual and otherwise, remained the hallmark of masculinity
for many white men, for some, evangelical faiths moderated the fondness for drinking,
hunting, dancing, and fighting often associated with white men in slavery. For them, and
for many in the Upper South in particular, masculinity encompassed elements of gentle
ness and emotional expressiveness that meshed well with new notions of companionate
marriage, for example, also found in the bourgeois North. Yeomen farmers, landless men,
and artisans, meanwhile, sometimes outdid their planter contemporaries in violent self‐
assertion, but those who depended upon planters for their livelihoods typically had to find
ways to accommodate planter condescension—or move west in pursuit of landed indepen
dence.37
Scholarship on white women's gender identities beyond the planter class remains limited,
in large part for evidentiary reasons, but work to date indicates that the impact of class
on white women's identities was equally profound. Elizabeth Fox‐Genovese's Within the
Plantation Household continues to influence debates about slave owning women, a field
which is particularly rich for the Old South. Fox‐Genovese attributed the Old South's gen
der relations to its male‐dominated productive households, contrasting them to northern
bourgeois households, which became increasingly feminized as men left home to work.
Southern gender roles (p. 525) and norms left planter women at significant risk for eco
nomic dependence and domestic violence. However, class and racial privilege so shaped
their gender identities that most either embraced their position or resisted it on a person
al rather than systemic level. While this aspect of Fox‐Genovese's argument remains
largely intact, newer research by Anya Jabour, Kirsten Wood, and others indicates that
planter women were not always content with being or even allowed to be purely depen
dent. Antebellum slave owning daughters prized their girlhood freedom and fought deter
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mined delaying actions against marriage. From the early colonies through the Civil War,
moreover, while most white women entered coverture—sometimes repeatedly—warfare,
politics, travel, business, death, and many other factors forced many women to assume
the burdens of household mastery as grass or real widows.38
Scholars of working women and farm women, meanwhile, have shown that these groups
were not simply in thrall to planter ideals.39 The busy women Julia Cherry Spruill studied
in the colonial South had antebellum descendants: middle‐class women worked as print
ers, writers, editors, and shopkeepers, for example, both in their own right and as essen
tial complements to their husbands. Intriguingly, such women subscribed to—and, as
writers, advocated—the separate spheres ideology that supposedly buffered them from
the world of money and politics, and that Elizabeth Fox‐Genovese had argued could not
emerge in the Old South.40
In the American South in particular, ideas about white manhood (strength, sexual activity,
reason, self‐restraint, assertiveness, honor) and about white womanhood (purity, depen
dence, obedience, industriousness, maternity, piety) fused in ways that bolstered not only
patriarchy, but also slavery and white supremacy. Key to both were notions of domestic
mastery, whether the dependants to be mastered were slaves, wives, children, or grown
white men. Especially in the antebellum South, ideas about mastery also bolstered both
socioeconomic inequality and electoral democracy. In the context of slavery, to speak of
mastery (male or female) is also to talk of politics.41
Politics
In the United States, gender met southern planters' pressing need to explain why the
nonslaveholding majority should support slavery through their votes, taxes, and shared
policing. Planters and yeoman farmers shared not only a commitment to white superiority
but also to domestic patriarchy: as fathers and husbands, they were equally the “mas
ters” of their “small worlds,” to quote Stephanie McCurry. Campaigns to defeat or defend
slavery also relied on gender norms. In the antebellum South, marriage became the gov
erning metaphor for proslavery ideologues, who used it to suggest slavery's benevolence
and permanence. Everywhere, slavery's defenders (p. 526) insisted on black women's las
civiousness to justify enslaving black women and their mixed‐race children, mask white
men's adultery, and deny the existence of rape. Some defenders of slavery also argued,
contradictorily, that slavery raised white women to their proper place in society: white
women could be ladies—and none need be prostitutes—because degraded black women
absorbed white men's baser impulses and motivated them to defend white ladies' delica
cy. That mythology of white women's pedestal goes a long way to explain white women's
support during and after slavery for social mores that have, in the modern era, impeded
the spread of feminism beyond its traditionally white, middle‐class following.42
Despite the pedestal, white women in slavery did not remain aloof from politics. Their al
leged purity—a gendered and racialized trait—made them amenable and important to the
American Whig party's reform agenda in the 1840s, as Elizabeth Varon and others argue.
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White women also worked for benevolent reform, gradual emancipation through coloniza
tion, poor relief, and temperance, all highly political campaigns in the antebellum South.
A particularly clear instance of white women's impact on politics involves the Civil War.
Drew Gilpin Faust maintains that women withdrew their support for the Confederacy
when their submission no longer bought the reciprocal provision of protection and mater
ial support.43
Abolitionists also relied on gender, as Kristen Hoganson, Julie Roy Jeffrey, and Henrice Al
tink have shown. To engage white sympathies, their propaganda urged (female) readers
to imagine themselves violated by the overseer's lash or torn forcibly from their nursing
infants. Abolitionists also believed adopting the “middle‐class marriage ideal” would help
make American freedpeople and Jamaican apprentices into productive wage laborers.44
Fugitive slaves and black abolitionists spoke bitterly about planters' interference in slave
family life and especially about sexual violence, with its enormous if different tolls on en
slaved women and men. After slavery, freedpeople's frequent commitment to what look
like bourgeois family norms—legal marriage and household‐centered work for women—
reflected both a desire to enjoy what was denied in slavery and an ongoing struggle to
wrest control over black families out of white hands. Gender remained deeply embedded
in post‐slavery politics, from fights over American freedwomen's wearing of veils to
whites' struggles to control black women's and children's labor.45
New Directions
Gender analysis has reshaped scholarship on the thirteen colonies and the United States
more than the Caribbean and South America, so closer and more sustained scrutiny of
those regions promises additional insights. The Caribbean's wealth of (p. 527) studies of
enslaved women is yet unmatched for enslaving men and women, although Hilary Beckles
and Trevor Burnard have begun the work. Similarly, the vast history of South American
and Brazilian slavery could support many more gendered studies.46 Relatedly, change
over time—long underexamined for the American South in particular—needs more elabo
ration there and elsewhere. Most research to date explores well‐developed plantation sys
tems, but as the work of Kathleen Brown, Laura Edwards, and Leslie Schwalm indicates,
for example, the frontier and the emancipation stages of slavery's New World history wit
nessed significant and sometimes quite rapid change in gender roles, identities, and ide
ologies.47
Thematically, we need to forge clearer links between gender ideologies and day‐to‐day in
teractions in the fields, kitchens, cabins, courts, slave marts, and slave ships. We need
more data on how European and African precedents and the changing context of planta
tion slavery itself shaped the gendered division of labor over time. We also stand in need
of a more precise conceptual language that will clearly explain why it is not true that
“gender was obliterated under slavery” and that “as workers, women slaves were ren
dered equal to men.”48
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The way forward is not entirely clear, however. Some scholars worry that gender history,
especially of masculinity, is displacing women's history, just as work on race, and espe
cially whiteness, may overshadow black history. Whiteness and masculinity are essential
historical subjects, but interest in them should not submerge research about women in
general and black women in particular. By the same token, black women's history should
not become solely a means to understand “the systemic nature of racism and sexism.”49
At the same time, some modern historians view black women's history as a means to hon
or and embolden black women in the present, yet this places these historians in a very
different relationship to their subject—and their readers—than those who study slavery as
an institution. Even so, precisely because gender is both supremely personal and systemi
cally encoded in society‐wide relations of power, rigorous gender analysis can help bridge
the gap between personal and institutional, micro and macro approaches to slavery in the
New World.
Select Bibliography
BECKLES, HILARY M. Natural Rebels: A Social History of Enslaved Black Women in
Barbados. New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press, 1990.
BROWN, KATHLEEN M. Good Wives, Nasty Wenches, and Anxious Patriarchs: Gender,
Race, and Power in Colonial Virginia. Chapel Hill, NC: University of North Carolina Press,
1996.
BUSH, BARBARA. Slave Women in Caribbean Society, 1650–1838. London: James Curry,
1990.
FOX‐GENOVESE, ELIZABETH. Within the Plantation Household: Black and White

Women of the Old South. Chapel Hill, NC: University of North Carolina Press, 1988.
GASPAR,DAVIDBARRY, and DARLENECLARKHINE, eds. More than Chattel: Black

Women and Slavery in the Americas. Bloomington, Ind.: Indiana University Press, 1996.
—— —— eds. Beyond Bondage: Free Women of Color in the Americas. Urbana, Ill.: Univer
sity of Illinois Press, 2004.
MCCURRY, STEPHANIE. Masters of Small Worlds: Yeoman Households, Gender Rela

tions, and the Political Culture of the Antebellum South Carolina Low Country. New York:
Oxford University Press, 1995.
MOITT, BERNARD. Women and Slavery in the French Antilles, 1635–1848. Blooming
ton, Ind.: University of Indiana Press, 2001.
MORGAN, JENNIFER L. Laboring Women: Reproduction and Gender in New World Slav
ery. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2004.
MORRISSEY, MARIETTA. Slave Women in the New World: Gender Stratification in the
Caribbean. Lawrence, Kan.: University Press of Kansas, 1989.
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WHITE, DEBORAH G. Ar'n't I a Woman?: Female Slaves in the Plantation South. 1985;
rev. edn. New York: Norton, 1999.
Notes:
(1.) Joan W. Scott, “Gender: A Useful Category of Historical Analysis,” American Historical
Review, 91 (5) (December 1986): 1053–75.
(2.) Barbara Bush, “ ‘Sable Venus,’ ‘She Devil’ or ‘Drudge?’: British Slavery and the ‘Fabu
lous Fiction’ of Black Women's Identities, c.1650–1838,” Women's History Review, 9 (4)
(2000): 761–89; Jennifer L. Morgan, “ ‘Some Could Suckle over their Shoulder’: Male
Travelers, Female Bodies, and the Gendering of Racial Ideology, 1500–1770,” William and
Mary Quarterly, 54 (1) (1997): 167–92; Barbara Bush, Slave Women in Caribbean Society,
1650–1838 (London, 1990), 13–14; Hilary M. Beckles, Natural Rebels: A Social History of
Enslaved Black Women in Barbados (New Brunswick, NJ, 1990), 24. Existing work on
gender's role in African slave trade has paid more heed to sex ratios and labor patterns
than to gender ideology per se. Useful works include: Trevor Burnard and Kenneth Mor
gan, “The Dynamics of the Slave Market and Slave Purchasing Patterns in Jamaica, 1655–
1788,” William and Mary Quarterly, 58 (1) (2001) (June 23, 2007); G. Ugo Nwokeji,
“African Conceptions of Gender and the Slave Traffic,” William and Mary Quarterly, 58 (1)
(2001): 47–68; Jennifer L. Morgan, “Women in Slavery and the Transatlantic Slave
Trade,” in Transatlantic Slavery: Against Human Dignity (London, 1994), 60–9; David Eltis
and Stanley L. Engerman, “Was the Slave Trade Dominated by Men?,” Journal of Interdis
ciplinary History, 23 (2) (1992): 237–57; Joseph E. Inikori, “Export Versus Domestic De
mand: The Determinants of Sex Ratios in the Transatlantic Slave Trade,” Research in Eco
nomic History, 14 (1992): 117–66; David Geggus, “Sex Ratio, Age and Ethnicity in the At
lantic Slave Trade: Data from French Shipping and Plantation Records,” Journal of
African History, 30 (1) (1989): 23–44.
(3.) Hilary M. Beckles, “Plantation Production and White ‘Proto‐Slavery’: White Inden
tured Servants and the Colonisation of the English West Indies, 1624–1645,” The Americ
as, 41 (3) (January 1985): 45.
(4.) Kathleen M. Brown, Good Wives, Nasty Wenches, and Anxious Patriarchs: Gender,
Race, and Power in Colonial Virginia (Chapel Hill, NC, 1996); Ben Marsh, Georgia's Fron
tier Women: Female Fortunes in a Southern Colony (Athens, Ga., 2007), 10–11, 141, 143;
Catherine Clinton and Michele Gillespie (eds.), The Devil's Lane: Sex and Race in the Ear
ly South (New York, 1997). On gender and early Virginia, see also Mary Beth Norton,
Founding Mothers & Fathers: Gendered Power and the Forming of American Society
(New York, 1996).
(5.) Bernard Moitt, Women and Slavery in the French Antilles, 1635–1848 (Bloomington,
Ind., 2001), 40–5; Beckles, Natural Rebels, 31, 33, 52, 106–7; Jacqueline Jones, “ ‘My
Mother Was Much of a Woman’: Black Women, Work, and the Family under Slavery,” Fem
inist Studies, 8 (2) (1982): 239, 242.
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(6.) Beckles, Natural Rebels, 32, 38, 55; Deborah G. White, Ar'n't I a Woman? Female
Slaves in the Plantation South (1985; rev. edn. New York, 1999), 94.
(7.) Beckles, Natural Rebels; Daina Berry, Swing the Sickle for the Harvest is Ripe: Gen
der and Slavery in Antebellum Georgia (Urbana, Ill., 2007); Sharla M. Fett, Working
Cures: Healing, Health, and Power on Southern Slave Plantations (Chapel Hill, NC, 2002),
125; Moitt, Women and Slavery, pp. xv, 35–6, 48, 52; Susan M. Socolow, “Economic Roles
of the Free Women of Color of Cap Français,” in David Barry Gaspar and Darlene Clark
Hine (eds.), More than Chattel: Black Women and Slavery in the Americas (Bloomington,
Ind., 1996), 287; Marietta Morrissey, Slave Women in the New World: Gender Stratifica
tion in the Caribbean (Lawrence, Kan., 1989), 65–8, 161–3; White, Ar'n't I a Woman?, 76,
128–30; Rhoda Reddock, “Women and Slavery in the Caribbean: A Feminist Perspective,”
Latin American Perspectives, 12 (1) (Winter 1985): 65, 74; White, Ar'n't I a Woman?;
Jones, “ ‘My Mother Was Much of a Woman' ”. For domestic labor, see Stephanie Cole,
“Servants and Slaves: Domestic Service in the Border Cities, 1800–1850” (Ph.D. diss.,
University of Florida, 1994). For women in rice agriculture, see Judith A. Carney, Black
Rice: The African Origins of Rice Cultivation in the Americas (Cambridge, Mass., 2001);
Leslie A. Schwalm, A Hard Fight for We: Women's Transition from Slavery to Freedom in
South Carolina (Urbana, Ill., 1997).
(8.) Jones, “ ‘My Mother Was Much of a Woman,’ ” quotation at 243; Bush, Slave Women,
129–31.
(9.) Morrissey, Slave Women, 47, 49–54, 61. For change in women's tasks, see Carole
Shammas, “Black Women's Work and the Evolution of Plantation Society in Virginia,” La
bor History, 26 (Winter 1985): 5–28; but compare Marsh, Georgia's Frontier Women, 139–
41.
(10.) Cynthia M. Kennedy, Braided Relations, Entwined Lives: The Women of Charleston's
Urban Slave Society (Bloomington, Ind., 2005); Evelyn Brooks Higginbotham, “African‐
American Women's History and the Metalanguage of Race,” Signs, 17 (2) (Winter 1992):
251–74; Elsa Barkley Brown, “ ‘What Has Happened Here’: The Politics of Difference in
Women's History and Feminist Politics,” Feminist Studies, 18 (2) (Summer 1992): 295–
312.
(11.) Beckles, Natural Rebels, 9, 94; Bush, Slave Women, 36, 122; Morrissey, Slave
Women, pp. xii, 44, 109; Cheryll Ann Cody, “Slave Demography and Family Formation: A
Community Study of the Ball Family Plantations, 1720–1896” (Ph.D. diss., University of
Minnesota, 1983).
(12.) Jennifer L. Morgan, Laboring Women: Reproduction and Gender in New World Slav
ery (Philadelphia, 2004), 12–49, 69–106. On amelioration, see Bush, Slave Women, 28–30,
44–5, 113, 135; Beckles, Natural Rebels, 38, 99, 104, 117.
(13.) Edward E. Baptist, “ ‘Cuffy,’ ‘Fancy Maids,’ and ‘One‐Eyed Men’: Rape, Commodifi
cation, and the Domestic Slave Trade in the United States,” American Historical Review,
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106 (December 2001): quotation at 1649; Diane Miller Sommerville, Rape and Race in the
Nineteenth‐Century South (Chapel Hill, NC, 2004); Merril D. Smith (ed.), Sex without
Consent: Rape and Sexual Coercion in America (New York, 2001); Sharon Block, Rape and
Sexual Power in Early America (Chapel Hill, NC, 2006); Susan Migden Socolow, The
Women of Colonial Latin America (Cambridge, 2000), 134–5, 152–3; Martha Hodes, White
Women, Black Men: Illicit Sex in the Nineteenth‐Century South (New Haven, 1999);
Jacquelyn Dowd Hall, “ ‘The Mind That Burns in Each Body’: Women, Rape, and Racial Vi
olence,” in Christine Stansell and Ann Snitow (eds.), Powers of Desire: The Politics of Sex
uality (New York, 1983); Berry, Swing the Sickle, 82–4.
(14.) Electronic editions of Dixon's novels are available at Documenting the American
South, along with a useful critique introduction to the trilogy. Andrew Leiter, “Thomas
Dixon, Jr.: Conflicts in History and Literature,” http://docsouth.unc.edu/southlit/
dixon_intro.html. Accessed April 29, 2008.
(15.) Jacquelyn Dowd Hall, Revolt against Chivalry: Jessie Daniel Ames and the Women's
Campaign against Lynching (New York, 1979).
(16.) Henrice Altink, “Deviant and Dangerous: Pro‐Slavery Representations of Jamaican

Slave Women's Sexuality, c.1780–1834,” Slavery and Abolition, 26 (2) (August 2005): quo
tation at 274; Joshua R. Rothman, Notorious in the Neighborhood: Sex and Families
across the Color Line in Virginia, 1787–1861 (Chapel Hill, NC, 2003), 155; Virginia
Meacham Gould, “ ‘A Chaos of Iniquity and Discord’: Slave and Free Women of Color in
the Spanish Ports of New Orleans, Mobile, and Pensacola,” in Clinton and Gillespie
(eds.),The Devil's Lane, 240–3.
(17.) White, Ar'n't I a Woman?, 38; Morrissey, Slave Women, 66, 70–3; Beckles, Natural
Rebels, 141–51; David P. Geggus, “Slave and Free Colored Women in Saint Domingue,” in
Gaspar and Hine (eds.), More than Chattel, 270; Annette Gordon‐Reed, Thomas Jefferson
and Sally Hemings: An American Controversy (Charlottesville, Va., 1997). For free and
freedwomen, see also David Barry Gaspar and Darlene Clark Hine (eds.), Beyond
Bondage: Free Women of Color in the Americas (Urbana, Ill., 2004); Kimberly S. Hangar,
“Coping in a Complex World: Free Black Women in Colonial New Orleans,” in Clinton and
Gillespie (eds.),The Devil's Lane, 218–31.
(18.) Kennedy, Braided Relations, 95, 167–9; Stephanie M. H. Camp, Closer to Freedom:
Enslaved Women and Everyday Resistance in the Plantation South (Chapel Hill, NC,
2004), 62. For informal marriage and the changing relationship of race and sexuality in a
north American city, see Clare A. Lyons, Sex among the Rabble: An Intimate History of
Gender (Chapel Hill, NC, 2006).
(19.) Darlene Clark Hine, “Rape and the Inner Lives of Black Women in the Middle West,”
Signs, 14 (4) (Summer 1989): 912–20.
(20.) E. Franklin Frazier, The Negro Family in the United States, with a new introduction
and bibliography by Anthony M. Platt (Notre Dame, Ind., 2001); Daniel P. Moynihan, The
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Negro Family: The Case for National Action (US Department of Labor, 1965); John W.
Blassingame, The Slave Community: Plantation Life in the Antebellum South (New York,
1972); Herbert S. Gutman, The Black Family in Slavery and Freedom, 1750–1925 (New
York, 1977). For free blacks, see Michael P. Johnson and James L. Roark, Black Masters: A
Free Family of Color in the Old South (New York, 1984).
(21.) White, Ar'n't I a Woman?; Jones, “ ‘My Mother Was Much of a Woman’ ”; Katia M. de
Queirós Mattoso, “Slave, Free, and Freed Family Structures in Nineteenth‐Century Sal
vador, Bahia,” Luso‐Brazilian Review, 25 (1) (Summer 1988): 69–84.
(22.) Ann Patton Malone, Sweet Chariot: Slave Family and Household Structure in Nine
teenth‐Century Louisiana (Chapel Hill, NC, 1992). Brenda E. Stevenson, Life in Black and
White: Family and Community in the Slave South (New York, 1997), 160, 221, 223. On do
mestic violence among slaves, see White, Ar'n't I a Woman?, 151–3; Betty Wood, Women's
Work, Men's Work: The Informal Slave Economies of Lowcountry Georgia (Athens, Ga.,
1995), 185; Emily West, “Tensions, Tempers, and Temptations: Marital Discord among
Slaves in Antebellum South Carolina,” American Nineteenth Century History, 5 (2)
(2004): 1–18.
(23.) Kennedy, Braided Relations, quotation at 95; Claire Robertson, “Africa into the
Americas? Slavery and Women, the Family, and the Gender Division of Labor,” in Gaspar
and Hine (eds.), More than Chattel, 17; Moitt, Women and Slavery, 36; Claire C. Robert
son and Martin A. Klein (eds.), Women and Slavery in Africa (Madison, 1983).
(24.) Bernard Moitt, “Slave Women and Resistance in the French Caribbean,” in Gaspar
and Hine (eds.), More than Chattel, 239–58; Geggus, “Women in Saint Domingue”; Camp,
Closer to Freedom, ch. 2; Verene Shepherd, Bridget Brereton, and Barbara Bailey, Engen
dering History: Caribbean Women in Historical Perspective (New York, 1995); Rosalyn
Terborg‐Penn, “Black Women in Resistance: A Cross‐Cultural Perspective,” in Gary Y. Oki
hiro (ed.), In Resistance: Studies in African, Caribbean, and Afro‐American History
(Amherst, Mass., 1986), 188–209; Elizabeth Fox‐Genovese, “Strategies and Forms of Re
sistance: Focus on Slave Women in the United States,” in Okihiro (ed.), In Resistance,
143–65.
(25.) Liese M. Perrin, “Resisting Reproduction: Reconsidering Slave Contraception in the

Old South,” Journal of American Studies, 35 (2) (August 2001): 255–74; Thelma Jennings,
“ ‘Us Colored Women Had to Go Through a Plenty’: Sexual Exploitation of African‐Ameri
can Slave Women,” Journal of Women's History, 1 (3) (1990): 45–74.
(26.) Sharon Ann Holt, “Symbol, Memory, and Service: Resistance and Family Formation
in Nineteenth‐Century African America,” in Larry E. Hudson (ed.),Working toward Free
dom: Slave Society and Domestic Economy in the American South (Rochester, NY, 1994),
204; White, Ar'n't I a Woman?, 87–9; Bush, Slave Women, 143–8, 165–6.
(27.) Morgan, Laboring Women.
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(28.) For Native Americans, gender, and slavery, see, for example, Ramon Gutierrez,
When Jesus Came, the Corn Mothers Went Away (Stanford, Calif., 1991); Barbara
Krauthamer, “Ar'n't I a Woman? Native Americans, Gender, and Slavery,” Journal of
Women's History, 19 (2) (2007): 156–60.
(29.) Henrice Altink, Representations of Slave Women in Discourses on Slavery and Aboli
tion, 1780–1838 (London, 2007); Bush, “ ‘Sable Venus’ ”; White, Ar'n't I a Woman?
(30.) Nancy A. Hewitt, “Compounding Differences,” Feminist Studies, 18 (2) (Summer

1992): 313–26.
(31.) Kennedy, Braided Relations, 95–110; Camp, Closer to Freedom; Marie Jenkins
Schwartz, Born in Bondage: Growing up Enslaved in the Antebellum South (Cambridge,
Mass., 2000). For free women, see for example Suzanne Lebsock, The Free Women of Pe
tersburg: Status and Culture in a Southern Town, 1784–1860 (New York, 1984).
(32.) Diane Miller Sommerville, “Rape, Race, and Castration in Slave Law in the Colonial
and Early South,” in Clinton and Gillespie (eds.), The Devil's Lane, 74–89.
(33.) Berry, Swing the Sickle, quotation at 79; Bertram Wyatt‐Brown, “The Mask of Obedi
ence: Male Slave Psychology in the Old South,” American Historical Review, 93 (5) (De
cember 1988): quotation at 1230; Fett, Working Cures, 91.
(34.) Edward E. Baptist, “ ‘Stol’ and Fetched Here': Enslaved Migration, Ex‐Slave Narra
tives, and Vernacular History,” in Edward E. Baptist and Stephanie M. H. Camp (eds.),
New Studies in the History of American Slavery (Athens, Ga., 2006), 243–74; Heather An
drea Williams, “ ‘Commenced to Think Like a Man’: Literacy and Manhood in African‐
American Civil War Regiments,” in Craig Thompson Friend and Lorri Glover (eds.),South
ern Manhood: Perspectives on Masculinity in the Old South (Athens, Ga., 2004); Darlene
Clark Hine and Earnestine Jenkins (eds.), A Question of Manhood: A Reader in U.S. Black
Men's History and Masculinity (Bloomington, Ind., 1999–c.2001), 10; Jim Cullen, “ ‘I's a
Man Now’: Gender and African‐American Men,” in Catherine Clinton and Nina Silber
(eds.), Divided Houses: Gender and the Civil War (New York, 1992), 76–91; Joseph P. Rei
dy, Leslie S. Rowland, and Ira Berlin (eds.), The Black Military Experience (Cambridge,
1982), 30–2.
(35.) Lebsock, Free Women of Petersburg; Jane H. Pease and William Henry Pease,
Ladies, Women, and Wenches: Choice and Constraint in Antebellum Charleston and
Boston, Gender & American Culture (Chapel Hill, NC, 1990); Socolow, The Women of
Colonial Latin America.
(36.) Friend and Glover (eds.), Southern Manhood; Trevor Burnard, Mastery, Tyranny, and
Desire: Thomas Thistlewood and his Slaves in the Anglo‐Jamaican World (Chapel Hill, NC,
2003); Walter Johnson, Soul by Soul: Life inside the Antebellum Slave Market (Cambridge,
Mass., 1999); Stephanie McCurry, Masters of Small Worlds: Yeoman Households, Gender
Relations, and the Political Culture of the Antebellum South Carolina Low Country (New
York, 1995); Kenneth A. Lockridge, On the Sources of Patriarchal Rage: The Common
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place Books of William Byrd and Thomas Jefferson and the Gendering of Power in the
Eighteenth Century (New York, 1992); Eugene D. Genovese, Roll, Jordan, Roll: The World
the Slaves Made (New York, 1974); Anya Jabour, Marriage in the Early Republic: Eliza
beth and William Wirt and the Companionate Ideal (Baltimore, 1998); Jan Lewis, The Pur
suit of Happiness: Family and Values in Jefferson's Virginia (Cambridge,1983); Jane Turn
er Censer, North Carolina Planters and their Children, 1800–1860 (Baton Rogue, La.,
1984). For paternalism, start with Genovese, Roll, Jordan, Roll and then consider, for ex
ample, Jeffrey Robert Young, Domesticating Slavery: The Master Class in Georgia and
South Carolina, 1670–1837 (Chapel Hill, NC, 1999); Drew Gilpin Faust, James Henry
Hammond and the Old South: A Design for Mastery (Baton Rouge, La., 1982), esp. 376–7.
On honor, see Lyman L. Johnson and Sonya Lipsett‐Rivera (eds.), The Faces of Honor: Sex,
Shame, and Violence in Colonial Latin America (Albuquerque, N. Mex., 1998); Kenneth S.
Greenberg, Honor and Slavery: Lies, Duels, Noses, Masks, Dressing as a Woman, Gifts,
Strangers, Humanitarianism, Death, Slave Rebellions, the Proslavery Argument, Baseball,
Hunting, and Gambling in the Old South (Princeton, 1996); Steven M. Stowe, Intimacy
and Power in the Old South: Ritual in the Lives of the Planters (Baltimore, 1987); Bertram
Wyatt‐Brown, Southern Honor: Ethics and Behavior in the Old South (New York, 1982).
(37.) For evangelicals, see Jean E. Friedman, The Enclosed Garden: Women and Commu
nity in the Evangelical South, 1830–1900 (Chapel Hill, NC, 1985); Christine Leigh Heyr
man, Southern Cross: The Beginnings of the Bible Belt (Chapel Hill, NC, 1997); Monica
Elizabeth Najar, “Evangelizing the South: Gender, Race, and Politics in the Early Evangel
ical South, 1765–1815” (Ph.D. diss., University of Wisconsin, Madison, 2000); Frederick
A. Bode, “A Common Sphere: White Evangelicals and Gender in Antebellum Georgia,”
Georgia Historical Quarterly, 79 (4) (1995): 775–809. For tenants and artisans, see
Charles C. Bolton, Poor Whites of the Antebellum South: Tenants and Laborers in Central
North Carolina and Northeast Mississipi (Durham, NC, 1994); Michele Gillespie, Free La
bor in an Unfree World: White Artisans In Slaveholding Georgia, 1789–1860 (Athens, Ga.,
2004).
(38.) Anya Jabour, Scarlett's Sisters: Young Women in the Old South (Chapel Hill, NC,
2007); Nikki Berg Burin, “A Regency of Women: Female Plantation Management in the
Old South” (Ph.D. diss., University of Minnesota, 2007); Elizabeth Fox‐Genovese, Within
the Plantation Household: Black and White Women of the Old South (Chapel Hill, NC,
1988), 24, 30, 35, 44; Kirsten E. Wood, Masterful Women: Slaveholding Widows from the
American Revolution through the Civil War (Chapel Hill, NC, 2004); Cynthia A. Kierner,
Beyond the Household: Women's Place in the Early South, 1700–1835 (Ithaca, NY, 1998);
Lebsock, Free Women of Petersburg; Catherine Clinton, The Plantation Mistress: Woman's
World in the Old South (New York, 1982); Anne Firor Scott, The Southern Lady: From
Pedestal to Politics, 1830–1930 (Chicago, 1970); Lois G. Carr and Lorena S. Walsh, “The
Planter's Wife: The Experience of White Women in Seventeenth‐Century Maryland,”
William and Mary Quarterly, 34 (4) (1977): 542–71; Linda Speth, “More Than her ‘Thirds’:
Wives and Widows in Colonial Virginia,” Women & History, 4 (1982): 5–41. Research on
white women in the Caribbean is relatively sparse. Cecily Jones, “Contesting the Bound
aries of Gender, Race and Sexuality in Barbadian Plantation Society,” Women's History
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Review, 12 (2) (2003): 195–231; Cheryl King, “According to the Law: Women's Property
Rights in Bridgetown Barbados, 1800–1834,” Journal of Caribbean History, 36 (2) (2002):
267–84; Hilary M. Beckles, “White Women and Slavery in the Caribbean,” History Work
shop Journal, 36 (1993): 66–82; Susan E. Klepp and Roderick McDonald, “Inscribing Ex
perience: An American Working Woman and an English Gentlewoman Encounter
Jamaica's Slave Society, 1801–1805,” William and Mary Quarterly, 58 (3) (July 2001): 637–
60.
(39.) Susanna Delfino and Michele Gillespie (eds.), Neither Lady Nor Slave: Working
Women of the Old South (Chapel Hill, NC, 2002); Victoria E. Bynum, Unruly Women: The
Politics of Social and Sexual Control in the Old South (Chapel Hill, NC, 1992); Lebsock,
Free Women of Petersburg; D. Harland Hagler, “The Ideal Woman in the Antebellum
South: Lady or Farmwife?,” Journal of Southern History, 46 (August 1980): 405–18.
(40.) Jonathan D. Wells, The Origins of the Southern Middle Class, 1800–1861 (Chapel
Hill, NC, 2004); Julia Cherry Spruill, Women's Life and Work in the Southern Colonies
(Chapel Hill, NC, 1938). For domesticity and female identity, see Marli Frances Weiner,
Mistresses and Slaves: Plantation Women in South Carolina, 1830–80 (Urbana, Ill., 1997).
(41.) Brown, Good Wives.
(42.) McCurry, Masters of Small Worlds.
(43.) Elizabeth R. Varon, We Mean to be Counted: White Women and Politics in Antebel
lum Virginia (Chapel Hill, NC, 1998); Drew Gilpin Faust, Mothers of Invention: Women of
the Slaveholding South in the American Civil War (Chapel Hill, NC, 1996); LeeAnn Whites,
The Civil War as a Crisis in Gender: Augusta, Georgia, 1860–1890 (Athens, Ga., 1995).
(44.) Henrice Altink, “ ‘To Wed or Not to Wed?’ The Struggle to Define Afro‐Jamaican Re
lationships, 1834–1838,” Journal of Social History, 81 (1) (2004): quotation at 81; Julie
Roy Jeffrey, The Great Silent Army of Abolitionism: Ordinary Women in the Antislavery
Movement (Chapel Hill, NC, 1998); Kristin Hoganson, “Garrisonian Abolitionists and the
Rhetoric of Gender, 1850–1860,” American Quarterly, 45 (4) (December 1993): 558–95;
Elizabeth B. Clark, “ ‘The Sacred Rights of the Weak’: Pain, Sympathy, and the Culture of
Individual Rights in Antebellum America,” Journal of American History, 82 (2) (September
1995): 463–93; Harriet Jacobs and Farah Jasmine Griffin, Incidents in the Life of a Slave
Girl, ed. George Stade (New York, 2005).
(45.) Laura F. Edwards, Scarlett Doesn't Live Here Anymore: Southern Women in the Civil
War Era (Urbana, Ill., 2000), 100–48; Pamela Scully and Diana Paton (eds.), Gender and
Slave Emancipation in the Atlantic World (Durham, NC, 2005); Verene A. Shepherd (ed.),
Working Slavery, Pricing Freedom: Perspectives from the Caribbean, Africa and the
African Diaspora (New York, 2002); Carol Lasser, “Slavery, Gender and the Meanings of
Freedom,” Gender & History, 13 (1) (April 2001): 161–6; Laura F. Edwards, Gendered
Strife & Confusion: The Political Culture of Reconstruction (Urbana, Ill., 1997); Schwalm,
A Hard Fight for We.
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(46.) A classic source for gender in Brazil is Gilberto Freyre, The Masters and the Slaves
(Casa‐Grande & Senzala): A Study in the Development of Brazilian Civilization by Gilberto
Freyre, trans. Samuel Putnam (New York, 1946). See also Kathleen J. Higgins, “Gender
and Manumission of Slaves in Colonial Brazil: The Prospects for Freedom in Sabara, Mi
nas Gerais, 1710–1809,” Slavery and Abolition, 18 (2) (1997): 1–29. The recent Herbert S.
Klein and Ben Vinson, iii: African Slavery in Latin America and the Caribbean (Oxford,
2007) contains chapters on demography and family, but none devoted to women or gen
der.
(47.) Brown, Good Wives; Edwards, Scarlett Doesn't Live Here Anymore; Edwards, Gen
dered Strife & Confusion; Schwalm, A Hard Fight for We.
(48.) Moitt, Women and Slavery, quotation at xiv; Bush, Slave Women, xii.
(49.) Leslie Alexander, “The Challenge of Race: Rethinking the Position of Black Women in
the Field of Women's History,” Journal of Women's History, 16 (4) (2004): 56.
Kirsten E. Wood
Kirsten E. Wood is Associate Professor in the Department of History at Florida Inter

national University in Miami.
Page 22 of 22
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How did Europeans justify enslaving Africans based on gender?

How did Europeans justify enslaving Africans based on gender?

How did gender shape the division of labor among enslaved people?

How did gender shape the division of labor among enslaved people?

Gender and Slavery

Gender and Slavery

Print Publication Date: Jul 2010

Abstract and Keywords

date: 09 July 2019

The Gendered Division of Slave Labor

date: 09 July 2019

date: 09 July 2019

date: 09 July 2019

date: 09 July 2019

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runaway needed assistance, while their part‐chosen and part‐imposed responsibility

date: 09 July 2019

(p. 522) Black Femininity28

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(p. 523) Black Masculinity

As for enslaved women, historians have identified a range of white stereotypes—Nat,

Mastery and White Gender Identities

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date: 09 July 2019

date: 09 July 2019

date: 09 July 2019

FOX‐GENOVESE, ELIZABETH. Within the Plantation Household: Black and White

GASPAR,DAVIDBARRY, and DARLENECLARKHINE, eds. More than Chattel: Black

MCCURRY, STEPHANIE. Masters of Small Worlds: Yeoman Households, Gender Rela­

date: 09 July 2019

date: 09 July 2019

date: 09 July 2019

(16.) Henrice Altink, “Deviant and Dangerous: Pro‐Slavery Representations of Jamaican

date: 09 July 2019

(25.) Liese M. Perrin, “Resisting Reproduction: Reconsidering Slave Contraception in the

(27.) Morgan, Laboring Women.

date: 09 July 2019

(30.) Nancy A. Hewitt, “Compounding Differences,” Feminist Studies, 18 (2) (Summer

date: 09 July 2019

date: 09 July 2019

(41.) Brown, Good Wives.

(42.) McCurry, Masters of Small Worlds.

date: 09 July 2019

Kirsten E. Wood is Associate Professor in the Department of History at Florida Inter­

date: 09 July 2019

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MCCURRY, STEPHANIE. Masters of Small Worlds: Yeoman Households, Gender Rela

Kirsten E. Wood is Associate Professor in the Department of History at Florida Inter