During excavation for yet another federal office building in lower Manhattan, workers stumbled upon the skeletal remains of over four hundred men women and children. Further investigation confirmed that during the seventh and eighteenth centuries, free and enslaved Africans were buried in a 6.6-acre burial ground, beyond the original boundaries of the New Amsterdam Settlement. Over centuries of development and expansion, the unmarked burial grounds and its inhabitants lay silent and forgotten. On October fourth 2004, a major display of the importance of this historical find engaged lower Manhattan from the South Street Sea Port, to Duane and Elk Streets. The celebration was resplendent with period horse drawn wagons, driven by men dressed in eighteenth century clothing. Women dressed in white were assigned to defend the remains of the enslaved Africans. This day marks the beginning of my African Burial Grounds series of documentary photography. The practice and tradition of trading on Wall Street that the world is so dependent on today, originated with the trading of Africans (mostly from Congo) that were brought by ship to the port, ordered to disembark, to then be sold by the wall (Wall Street). For a period of time in America’s colonial and early history as a new nation, this was the second largest slave port in the new world. Today the same port, the South Street Sea Port, is enjoyed by millions of people year round.

On Friday, October 5th 2007 the memorial dedication of the African Burial Grounds National Monument at Duane and Elk streets was celebrated. A celebration that was too long in coming, fraught with resistance from city, state and federal governments, and long over due.

When I began photographing the yearly events that celebrated the procurement of an official site for the re-inturnment of enslaved free people, I knew the importance of staying steady emotionally to record the event. I had to stay steady, If for no other purpose than honor those that have come before me. For five hours, I fought the unanticipated tears to collect as much information about this hidden history as I could gather- information that I was denied, growing up in Brooklyn. Information that my parents, and my parents parents were denied; information that only recently has found its way into the education system; information that is still today not commonly known about a very common aspect of American history.

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