Forever Free: The Story of Emancipation and Reconstruction by Eric Foner
The Other American Revolution
A review by Steven Hahn
I.
Midway through his new book on emancipation and Reconstruction, Eric Foner
remarks on how "unanticipated events" -- in this case, the assassination
of Abraham Lincoln -- "profoundly shaped" the course of the era.
Foner finds it "inconceivable" that Lincoln, had he lived,
"
would have so alienated Congress" as to have faced impeachment, and speculates
that Lincoln and his fellow Republicans in Congress would likely have fashioned
a Reconstruction plan "more attuned to protecting
the rights of the former slaves than the one [Andrew] Johnson envisioned, but
less radical than the one Congress eventually adopted." Such a plan, Foner
acknowledges, might well have united the North and gained greater acceptance
in the white South, thus smoothing the process of sectional reunification and
avoiding the struggles and political violence that left bloody and painful
scars on the nation for generations to follow. But, he asks, would such an
alternative, however appealing in some regards, "have served the nation's
interests, and especially those of the former slaves?"
Foner's question defies the reconciliationist narrative that has long focused
popular opinion on the importance of healing the nation's wounds -- and has
long demonized Reconstruction as a dark, vindictive, and misguided episode
in our history. Yes, it is said, the Civil War
was an awful and divisive conflagration, and one that suggested the limits
of our political institutions.
But in the end both sides agreed to lay down their arms and rebuild the country,
a project that would have been hastened were it not for the Radical Republicans
who took charge of Reconstruction in 1867 and the white supremacist vigilantes
who fought to defeat their initiatives.
Consider a recent example of the reconciliationist school, Jay Winik's highly
touted April 1865, which celebrates Grant's offer and Lee's acceptance of generous
terms at Appomattox. Winik, who covered civil wars elsewhere in the world during
the past two decades and knows how inconclusive they can be, never asks if
Grant's magnanimity served the interests of African Americans, who had themselves
endured more than two centuries of slavery and helped to save the Union. But
Foner does ask the question, in an arresting and confounding manner; and so
he
reminds us that talk of the "national interest" at any point in our
history generally ignores African Americans, or at least tends to code the "nation"white.
And this is a measure of the challenging ways in which Eric Foner has re-oriented
and reshaped our understanding of the past.
Foner is the DeWitt Clinton Professor of History at Columbia University, where
he has been for most of his adult life. Like his mentor Richard Hofstadter,
he has had an enormous influence on how other historians, as well as a good
cut of the general reading public, have come to think about American history.
This is the result of his
voluminous scholarship and of his decades as a teacher. Indeed, when one considers
the chronological and topical range of Foner's many books and essays -- not
to mention those of his doctoral students -- only Hofstadter, C. Vann Woodward,
David Brion Davis, and, in an earlier era, Charles Beard (who was also at Columbia)
would seem to be his genuine rivals in impact and accomplishment.
Foner has reached across the span of American history in The Story of American
Freedom (1998) and Give Me Liberty! (2004). He has explored the radical political
impulses of the latter half of the eighteenth century in Tom Paine and Revolutionary
America (1976), and has confronted the interpretive contexts of historical
writing in Who Owns
History?: Rethinking the Past in a Changing World (2002). In an innovative
book of lectures, Nothing but Freedom (1983), he considered the slave emancipation
process in very broad comparative perspective. Yet Foner's greatest energies
have been devoted to the nineteenth century, and especially to the era of the
Civil War and Reconstruction.
Here his imprint has been wide and deep, and Forever Free, a book written chiefly
for a non-academic audience, shows many of his important thematic marks.
The very title, Forever Free, with its subtitle joining emancipation and Reconstruction,
not only identifies the central interpretive thrust of Foner's new book, but
also reflects one of his major conceptual interventions, developed most fully
in his justly acclaimed Reconstruction: America's Unfinished Revolution, 1863-1877,
which appeared in 1988. Unlike previous historians (regardless of their viewpoints)
who understood Reconstruction principally as a political
process meant to re-unite the nation, Foner sees it as a social and political
process -- a social and political revolution -- commencing with the Emancipation
Proclamation in 1863 rather than with the Confederate surrender at Appomattox
in 1865.
In this, Foner extends the remarkable insights of W.E.B. DuBois, whose Black
Reconstruction in America -- which appeared in 1935 and was long ignored by
professional historians -- placed slavery, slaves, and ex-slaves at the center
of the great drama of national conflict. African Americans emerge as powerful
political actors in Forever Free, as they did in DuBois's book. Their individual
and collective decisions, their struggles, their challenges to authority, their
courage in the face of repression, and their visions of freedom put emancipation
on the table of Civil War policy, in Foner's judgment, and a new set of rights
claims on the political board of Reconstruction. In
the vivid pages of Forever Free, we become acquainted with these extraordinary
people, some well-known, some virtually unknown -- Robert Smalls, James K.
Green, Henry Adams. We are also offered riveting images from the period and
six stimulating essays by Joshua Brown on the changing visual
culture of race and equality in nineteenth-century American society.
African Americans are not, of course, the only powerful actors to appear in
Forever Free. Lincoln, Johnson, Sherman, and Grant, among other familiar political
and military leaders, all have prominent parts. So, too, do the Radical Republicans,
who have figured crucially
and have been represented sympathetically in Foner's writings since his very
first book, Free Soil, Free Labor, Free Men (1970), a pathbreaking treatment
of the ideology of the Republican Party in the 1850s. But African Americans
drive the action in Forever Free. And Foner's ideas
about the historical sources of black activism have developed significantly.
Twenty years ago, in Reconstruction, he saw slaves coming to political life
largely when the Civil War began and various groups of Northerners (black and
white) came into contact with them;
now he sees the experience of enslavement as establishing the foundations on
which the new politics of freedom would be built, as African American slaves,
in the face of their masters' enormous power, constructed their own relations,
institutions, and sets of political beliefs and practices. "It is essential
to bear in mind," Foner writes, "the overwhelming economic and political
power of slavery in order to appreciate the radicalism of emancipation and
Reconstruction."
Foner therefore begins the slavery chapter (the first, and the longest, in
the book) with an account of General Sherman's meeting with twenty black ministers
(most of whom had been slaves at some point in their lives) in Savannah, Georgia
in early January 1865. Here we learn of the richness and the density of black
hopes at the
moment of emancipation. Defining freedom as the opportunity to "reap the
fruit of our own labor, and take care of ourselves," one of the ministers,
speaking for the group, thought it necessary "to have land, and turn it
and till it by our own labor." Three days later, Sherman issued his Field
Orders No. 15, reserving 400,000 acres of
prime plantation land along the coasts of South Carolina and Georgia for exclusive
black settlement, to be divided into forty-acre plots and made available to
black families together with the use of army mules (the basis of the expression "forty
acres and a mule").
Rarely have the aspirations and sensibilities of slaves and freedpeople--
or of any working people -- made themselves felt so directly on public policy,
and toward what were unmistakably revolutionary ends. The freedpeople had some
allies in the national government, and also among the Northern public, who
supported land reform not only to place black freedom on a secure basis but
also fully to break the back of the antebellum slaveocracy and the plantation
system over which it had presided: to create in the South a society more resonant
with what they
valued in the North. But land reform threatened property rights throughout
the nation, in a way in which the abolition of property in slaves never quite
did; and so those allies were relatively few in number and summarily defeated.
The social revolution of the middle period would have clear limits.
Yet here, and elsewhere in his scholarship, Foner focuses on another revolution
that the Civil War and Reconstruction made possible, and one that, in his view,
remains incomplete. This was the political revolution that extended the franchise
to African American men and laid
the basis for an "interracial democracy" in the South, and in the
United States more generally. Given the conditions of political life in American
society at the time of the Civil War, Foner's view would seem to have a good
deal of merit, however much it dissents from several decades of revisionist
historical writing.
That revisionism began by adopting the idea of American political exceptionalism
-- the notion that America stood apart in the Atlantic world in its early embrace
of democratic politics and practices, and in the steady expansion of democratic
rights thereafter. Black
enfranchisement thus appeared to revisionists as part of the Whiggish logic
of American political history, advanced chiefly by liberal white leaders, who
were applauded for their efforts rather than condemned for their vindictiveness,
as they had been by a previous generation of Southern apologists.
Foner's work complicates this optimistic narrative. He reminds us of how complex
and contested America's early political history was, of how deep an imprint
the interests of slaveholders and their allies had left on it. By the eve of
the Civil War, despite a period of democratization
in the Jacksonian years, the country was effectively a native-born white man's
republic. Women had campaigned for political rights and been defeated. Free
blacks in the North had campaigned for political rights and been defeated.
Slaves in the South (who constituted 40 percent of the population there) had
been excluded from civil and political society. Immigrants, especially poor
Irish immigrants, faced increasing obstacles to their
political participation and increasing hostility from native-born Protestants.
The federal government had enacted a tougher Fugitive Slave Law, which gave
slavery a basis in every state. And the Supreme Court, in the infamous Dred
Scott case in 1857, had determined that black people, slave or free, could
not be citizens of the United States, and indeed had no rights that whites "were
bound to respect."
It was, in sum, scarcely imaginable in 1861 that slavery could have been abolished
in anything but a gradual way (as it was abolished in the Northern states),
let alone that former slaves could have won civil and political rights in relatively
short order. Yet revolutions can reconfigure the imaginative landscape; and
while Foner grants Lincoln
and the Radical Republicans significant roles in advancing the course of revolution
(he offers a particularly useful and nuanced reading of the Emancipation Proclamation, "perhaps
the most misunderstood important document in American history"), he sees
African Americans as
sparking the revolutionary impulse. They fled their plantations and farms in
great numbers and forced the
Lincoln administration to confront directly the problem of slavery. They pressed
to serve in the Union armed forces and eventually enlisted in the many thousands.
And, celebrating their military service in defense of the nation, they came
to demand what antebellum America had
explicitly denied them: full citizenship.
The results were nothing short of breathtaking, and on a
world-historical scale. The Emancipation Proclamation and the Thirteenth Amendment
abolished slavery without gradualism or compensation to slaveowners. This
set the American South apart from every other slave society in the
Atlantic world, with the exception of Haiti. So, too, did the Fourteenth Amendment,
the Military Reconstruction Acts, and the Fifteenth Amendment, which established
a national citizenry and incorporated people of African descent into American
civil and political society. For the first time in our history, the "right
to vote" was inscribed in the federal Constitution. "Reconstruction," Foner
insists, "represented less a fulfillment of the [American]
Revolution's principles than a radical repudiation of the nation's actual practice
of the previous seven decades."
White Southerners of the day, and Southern sympathizers ever since, would
likely have agreed with this assessment, even if such radical repudiations
contributed, for them, to the illegitimacy and the corruption of the Reconstruction
experience: the spectacle of carpetbaggers and illiterate blacks marching to
the polls, sitting in the state legislatures, making policy, adjudicating court
cases, taking bribes, imposing high taxes, tramping on the rights and prerogatives
of defeated Confederates, and transgressing the rules of race and sex -- a
world truly turned upside down.
Foner understands the radicalism far differently. Black
enfranchisement, in his telling, led to a groundswell of political mobilization
in town and countryside alike, as former slaves organized Union Leagues and
Republican Party clubs, educated each other and debated the issues of the
day, formed alliances with white Republicans who were native to the South
(known as scalawags) or from the North
(known as carpetbaggers), nominated candidates for state and local office (most
of whom were white), and helped rewrite state constitutions. The picture he
paints is not one of ignorant black folk being manipulated by their betters
or wreaking vengeance on their former owners. His picture depicts black men,
and black women,
transforming political skills they had developed under slavery and, in the
process, creating the possibilities for the first genuine democracy that the
South ever had.
In Forever Free, as in Reconstruction, Foner devotes a great deal of attention
and energy to this political revolution's dimensions. Almost everywhere in
the former Confederacy, Republicans took control of state governments and began
not only to rebuild the economic infrastructures (especially railroads), but
also to construct new
institutions of civic life for black as well as white Southerners. Perhaps
most consequential were the South's first systems of public education: although
racially segregated, they provided African Americans with access to new forms
of personal and community empowerment.
In some states, such as South Carolina, Mississippi, and Louisiana, where black
legislators sat in substantial numbers, issues of land, labor, and civil rights
were tackled (and in some cases carried forward) too.
Yet the most stunning changes brought about by Reconstruction's democratic
revolution were to be found at the grassroots. In the heart of the plantation
districts, where large slaveholders had once ruled, former slaves came to serve
as grand jurors, councilmen, supervisors,
magistrates, school commissioners, surveyors, treasurers, and even as sheriffs.
In some places -- McIntosh County, Georgia; Edgefield County, South Carolina;
Adams County, Mississippi -- enclaves of genuine black power took shape, challenging
the long-held hegemony of white landowners and other employers. More widely
still, African Americans
had the opportunity to serve on trial juries, thus offering their communities
avenues of grievance and measures of justice that previously had been unavailable.
White Southerners, and especially white property owners, were not amused.
For them, black political empowerment at the state and local levels manifested
the fundamental illegitimacy of Reconstruction, and threatened the very bases
of the racial hierarchies they had constructed. "Negro rule," they
called it; and they fought back with
ferocity. From the moment of black enfranchisement, they organized paramilitary
companies -- the Ku Klux Klan, the White League, the Red Shirts -- and tried
to make a mockery of electoral methods. They intimidated Republican voters,
assassinated black leaders, drove out duly elected officeholders, and on occasion
set up dual governments.
The ballot box seemed to register which side had more weapons or had taken
control of more polling places.
It appeared to be a particularly turbulent variant of latifundist politics.
White paramilitarism would have presented black and white Republicans with
difficult challenges under any circumstances. But, as Foner argues, those challenges
proved increasingly intractable because the Republican coalition was itself
divided and the federal government,
over which the party held sway, was increasingly reluctant to intervene. Although
African Americans composed the rank and file of the Republican Party in the
South, party policy there and elsewhere was made by white men closely aligned
with the sectors of banking, commerce, and manufacturing. Their interests were
in solidifying Republican power nationally, and in promoting commercial and
industrial
development. And as labor unrest stirred throughout the country after the Panic
of 1873, they came to sympathize more with the travails of white Southern landowners
and less with those of black Southern laborers.
Republican governors in the South were reluctant to mobilize state militias
to protect the rights of Republican voters, since many of the militiamen would
be black and armed, and President Grant, a Republican, was reluctant to send
in troops to shore up Republican regimes under
siege. Rather than recognizing paramilitary politics for what they were and
attempting to defend their black allies, most white Republican leaders instead
tried to cut deals with their opponents and, in the end, to blame the victims
for corrupt and anti-democratic practices. Appropriately, the last Republican
governments in the South (South
Carolina, Louisiana, and – yes -- Florida) fell when the contested presidential
election of 1876 produced a settlement and President Rutherford B. Hayes withdrew
the
few troops left guarding the statehouses.
II.
When did Reconstruction finally come to an end? Most historical accounts identify
the end of Reconstruction with the toppling of the Republican governments
and Hayes's withdrawal of federal troops, but in truth the answer is less
straightforward. Before the nineteenth century
was out, Republicans would again hold state power in the South: in alliance
with the Readjusters (an insurgent movement organized around the issue of state
debt repayment) in Virginia, and in alliance with
Populists in North Carolina. African Americans would continue to vote in substantial
numbers, and in some places to hold local, state, and national offices, at
times as Republicans, at times as independents, and at times owing to "fusion" agreements
with Democrats. And the
federal government would continue to keep an eye on elections in the South,
and to threaten intervention when federal laws were violated. Small wonder
that Southern white supremacists widely associated the end of Reconstruction
not with the withdrawal of federal troops but with the disfranchisement of
black voters in the 1890s and the following decade.
Foner is keenly aware of the interpretive complexity, and he asks us to think
about the periodization of these decades on two levels. On the one hand, he
regards the withdrawal of federal troops and the restoration of "home
rule" to the South in 1877 as a moment of enormous
political consequence in what he calls the "abandonment of
Reconstruction." The way was thereby cleared for the establishment of
the "Jim Crow" South, for new forms of domination and repression,
for social separation and political exclusion. African American communities
were left on the defensive and pretty much to their own devices. Booker T.
Washington accordingly emerged as the pre-eminent national black leader.
On the other hand, Foner conceives of Reconstruction as initiating a struggle
for political democracy and racial justice that would be ongoing, derailed
but not wholly defeated, driven underground but not silenced, capable of being
re-invigorated and re-asserted. It is America's "unfinished revolution," even
though Foner terms the
civil rights movement of the 1950s and 1960s the "Second Reconstruction," which,
he argues, "embraced the ideals and in many ways fulfilled the revolutionary
political and social agenda" of the first.
So was there one Reconstruction? Two Reconstructions? An "unfinished" Reconstruction?
These are large questions of American social and political development, and
one wonders whether the lack of conceptual clarity here is owed to tensions
in Foner's own intellectual and political perspective, particularly involving
matters of class and
race.
Foner has long been a leader among historians in advancing a class analysis
of the American past. Free Soil, Free Labor, Free Men argued that the Republican
Party grew out of a dynamic capitalist society in the antebellum North and
organized the aspirations of an emerging middle class around a critique of
the slave South and an ideological
celebration of free labor. Foner heralded the role of the party's radical wing,
and downplayed, though acknowledged, the racist and nativist currents that
could be found among Republicans of various stripes. He effectively did for
the North what the Marxist historian Eugene D. Genovese, in The Political Economy
of Slavery in 1965, did for the South: he made a case for fundamentally antagonistic
societies
developing within the borders of the United States, each based on discrete
forms of class relations. Conflict was unavoidable.
Foner has developed a sophisticated class analysis that takes ideology and
politics very seriously. He has understood the Civil War and Reconstruction
-- and the emancipation process more generally-- as a struggle over the meaning
of free labor, and over the civil and
political standing of free laborers. In Reconstruction and in other writings,
he saw many of the obstacles to change in the contradictions and limits of
free labor ideology and of the social groups that had come to embrace it. Class
matters, he has insisted; and in so doing he has given the study of American
politics an impressive reach and depth,
and has placed the Civil War and Reconstruction in a broad historical and international
framework.
At the same time, Foner's efforts to put the black struggle for freedom, justice,
and equality at the center of the Reconstruction story has the effect of shifting
the analytical emphasis away from class and the dimensions of class power.
Clearly hoping to counter the negative images still common among the public,
Foner is at pains to
show that Reconstruction made possible something America never had before,
and presumably something most of us would value: an interracial democracy.
Here the "story of American freedom" reached an exceptionally dramatic
stage, one that gave meaning and substance to a highly contested idea, and
one that would continue to galvanize the
disfranchised and dispossessed despite political setbacks and savage repression.
In this way, Reconstruction could be understood either as ongoing or as periodically
re-enacted.
There is something intriguing and compelling about a Second
Reconstruction coming nearly a century after the first, and some of the parallels
(the monumental Supreme Court decisions in 1857 and 1954, the assassination
of Northern presidents and the ascendancy of Southern vice presidents named
Johnson, electoral turning points in 1876 and
1968, to name a few) are outright eerie. Yet the similarities may be more apparent
than real, all the more so as we come to recognize that popular mobilizations
for civil rights began as early as the 1920s and
may more usefully be seen as part of the anti-colonial, pan-African, and social
democratic impulses of the three decades after World War I.
The idea of Reconstruction as an "unfinished" or re-enacted revolution
also rests heavily -- perhaps too heavily -- on a close association between
African American aspirations and the goals of civil and political equality,
full citizenship, and integration. There can be no
question that the association was, and remains, a powerful one. But what of
those black ministers in Savannah who told General Sherman that freedom meant
reaping the fruits of their labor and taking care of themselves, and that they
wished to farm their own land and live by themselves, separated from whites?
They made no mention of civil
rights, voting rights, or citizenship. Their interest was in community reconstitution,
economic independence, and self-governance, and given the near unanimity of
their sentiments (only one of the twenty ministers dissented), we must assume
that those feelings were widely shared among men and women coming out of slavery.
Foner recognizes these protonationalist and separatist tendencies -- more
so than he did in Reconstruction -- but he still attaches the greatest significance
to the ends of citizenship and interracialism and regards separatism chiefly
as the product of Reconstruction-era (and
later civil rights-era) political disappointments and defeats. This perspective
enables the various political and cultural projects that funneled into Reconstruction
to meld comfortably. Yet if black proto-nationalism and separatism were more
consequential and more
deeply embedded than Foner allows, as may well have been the case (especially
among rural ex-slaves, who were the overwhelming majority of ex-slaves), then
those were the tendencies that provided the context for black understandings
of citizenship (rather than the other way
around), and the projects of Reconstruction seem far less in alignment.
Reconstruction, that is, may be properly understood in connection with American
state-building and with an assortment of American popular movements. First
and foremost, Reconstruction brought to fruition a
process that had commenced with the American Revolution and the Constitution:
a process of establishing a modern nation; determining the relation between
federal, state, and local power; and defining the civil and political standing
of people living within the country. The
process was highly explosive, principally
-- though not exclusively -- because of slavery; and it eventually provoked
a rebellion on the part of slaveholders against the presumed authority of the
national government.
In this sense, it is arguable that Reconstruction began when federal troops
first set foot on Confederate soil, although Foner is undoubtedly correct that
the Emancipation Proclamation set the course of Reconstruction in a revolutionary
direction and united for a brief
period the political interests of Radical Republicans and African Americans.
Indeed, Reconstruction showed the influence of several popular movements that
had emerged in previous decades and then battled to leave their marks. These
included middle-class social reform movements,
movements for economic and political nationalism, movements against slavery,
and movements for race equality and gender equality.
Needless to say, the relations between these movements were intricate and
ever-shifting. At times many were brought into close alliance, and at times
alliances faltered and conflicts erupted. The possibilities for Reconstruction
seemed to be changing almost constantly, and there
were moments, particularly between 1863 and 1868, when not only emancipation
and black civil and political equality, but also land reform and women's rights,
were on the table. In the end, however, moderate and conservative Republicans,
who generally shared the views of manufacturers, bankers, farmers, and white
Protestants oriented to the domestic market and to a range of social and cultural
practices,
took charge of the Reconstruction process and defined its limits. The abolition
of slavery would be inscribed in the Constitution, a national citizenship would
be proclaimed, equality before the law and the right of contract would be consecrated,
and the sovereignty of the federal
government would be settled -- but federal jurisdiction would also be hedged,
land reform rejected, and women's political rights defeated.
Compared to the political world of pre-Civil War America, this was truly a
new one, brought about through revolutionary transformations; but with the
restoration of "home rule" to the former Confederate South, or perhaps
with the Dawes Act of 1887, which sought to break up
tribal sovereignties among Native Americans (the trans-Mississippi West is
part of the story of Reconstruction too), this revolution, in its own terms,
could be considered "finished."
African Americans, as Foner persuasively argues, played a central part in
turning the political crisis of the Civil War era into a revolution and in
remaking the nation. Still, the activities and the demands of
slaves and freedpeople that proved so consequential in wartime and Reconstruction
had very deep roots and very distinctive dynamics. They involved claims to
local empowerment as well as to formal rights, which
pressed well beyond what Republican policy-makers, even radical ones, were
prepared to accept. Their developing agenda simultaneously looked back to a
peasant politics of land, kinship, and community and anticipated a twentieth-century
politics organized around, as DuBois
put it, "the color line." Which is to say, black struggles gave shape
to Reconstruction, but they were not identical to it.
What were ongoing and "unfinished" were popular movements for freedom,
democracy, empowerment, self-governance, and citizenship. They almost continually
pressed upon the arenas of America's formal politics, and could make themselves
felt with great intensity at times
of political instability and crisis. One thinks, for example, of the years
between 1932 and 1965, perhaps even more appropriately called a "Second
Reconstruction," when mobilizations of working and other humble folk of
different races and ethnicities helped to refashion the nature
of state authority and the social compact, creating as much of a social democracy
as the United States has ever had.
The civil rights movement emerged out of the struggles of this extended period,
though it showed, like its Reconstruction-era predecessors, complex and contradictory
tendencies. Some of the tendencies (integrationism, egalitarianism, non-violence)
have been celebrated and
embraced; others (separatism, nationalism, armed self-defense) have been vilified,
ignored, or disowned.
At all events, however much we may seek to parse them, these tendencies are
intricately entwined in African American communities. We have yet to appreciate
fully this political and cultural intermixture, or to understand what it has
meant for modern American society.
But as we do, Eric Foner's work and commitments, in Forever Free and elsewhere, will not only guide our efforts, they will also remind us of how central African Americans have been to the nation's history and to the national interest.