Finding History and Heritage on a Freedom Tour in Virginia

I’m known for skipping history tours. While I enjoy taking a few minutes to learn about local history, a tour tends to bump up against my introversion. But while planning my trip, I decided I wanted to somehow pay homage to the enslaved Africans who were brought to or through the city. I wasn’t very familiar with their legacy and I knew that a freedom tour would center their narratives, remedying the tendency to whitewash history.

The morning of, however, taking a slavery tour felt off-putting. I’m already aware of the cruelty of the slave trade, after all … but the tour was paid for, and it was too late to cancel. I left my hotel and walked around the corner to meet my group at the library.

Once I met up with the group, I was almost immediately glad I had come. I was greeted by a Black woman, not someone dressed as a character in colonial gear. The tour she gave was conversational and didn’t seem rehearsed. Within minutes of starting to walk along the cobblestone streets of the city’s historic district, I’d become enthralled with the complicated history that was hidden behind the neighborhood’s boutique shops and high-end restaurants. The city’s Underground Railroad points were as tucked away as they could be. Some plaques and markers were stuck into the ground or located in the basements of buildings; if you didn’t know where to look, the average person would simply walk past them. My tour guide didn’t hold back when discussing the city’s dark history, but she also had a wealth of stories that ended with triumphs.

But then, when she told a story about enslaved peoples escaping and heading to Philadelphia with the help of abolitionist William Still, I stopped dead in my tracks. “Was William Still from Philly?” I asked.

As soon as I heard the name Still, I instantly thought of my cousin Shonnie, who we jokingly call the family historian. For years, she’d told her friends that the rapper Method Man was her cousin, and she had also often told me that we were related to the Still family, a large well-known Black family who lived near us in New Jersey, where I grew up. It’s quite possible that many Black families in the area are related to that family. While the Method Man bit was a tall tale for street cred, the connection to the Still family was more plausible. But it wasn’t something to which I’d previously given much thought.

My tour guide didn’t know whether William Still had a Philadelphia connection, so our group paused so I could Google him. I found not only that he did live in Philadelphia (a city only a few miles from where I was raised) but also that he was born just one county away from me. Where I’m from, it’s common knowledge that many members of the Still family lived in Lawnside, New Jersey, a town known for being an Underground Railroad stop. Moreover, my spur-of-the-moment research showed that members of the Still family had been recognized for their abolition work and for providing early medical services for their communities.

And the connections ran even deeper.

I read that William Still’s mother was from Maryland’s Eastern Shore. This detail made the family connection even more plausible—my great-grandfather was born there in 1899, and I recalled that in the 90s my family used to attend reunions in Maryland. While I don’t remember the surnames present during those celebrations, I do remember that hundreds of cousins from all over the East Coast had gathered together on these occasions. These family members could have very well been a link to the Still family.

I felt energized. Learning about Still gave me a personal stake in abolition, something I could connect with outside of knowing that my ancestors were enslaved. And it gave me a mission. I decided that when I returned home, I needed to research well-known ancestors. (I also needed to call my cousin to tell her that she might be right.)

Knowing that a potential ancestor fought for freedom alongside Harriet Tubman also led me to believe that the fight I’ve seen within my family probably flows down to the marrow. Through poverty, genetic cancers, and even service in a segregated military, my family has persevered through some trying times—while in Black skin, no less. This strength had clearly been passed on from the beginning. Walking through the streets for the rest of the tour, I mused about the fact that Still had probably dreamed of a day when a descendent could walk along the streets that he once risked his life on—free and equal.

Before leaving Alexandria the next morning, I decided to slide into the Freedom House Museum for an hour. I took that time to quietly connect with the countless people who were held and transported through that very building. I paid homage to their struggles, then I loaded up my car and headed back north. For the first time, I felt present in history, more than I had previously. I knew that, moving forward, shying away from the past would do a disservice to myself, no matter how grim parts of it could be.