Comparative Slavery Image

Fewer twentieth-century historiographical debates have been more engaging than the debate over comparative slavery in the colonial or Atlantic World. Since the early writings of scholars like Mary Williams and Frank Tannenbaum, historians have been actively engaged in debating the exceptionalism of the American slave system, and in comparing the severity of slave systems across contexts. More than anything, the historiography of comparative slavery is a methodological exercise. Comparing slave systems has required historians to address the larger question, “how does one measure the severity of a slave system?” Scholars have attempted to measure severity based upon legal, economic, demographic, religious, social, cultural, and other historic means. They have studied such phenomena as fertility, mortality, marriage, violence, emancipation, and resistance; they have studied monoculture, capitalism, and discourse; they have even cited the state of race relations in their respective nations as evidence against slavery. Overall, the past eighty years of the comparative slavery debate has taught scholars that colonial slave systems are complex and dynamic structures, composed of multiple and often contradictory elements. In their own ways, they are all exceptional and they are all alike.

Articles on the comparative nature of colonial slavery were written by scholars like Mary Williams since the 1930s. These articles and other books, like Melville Herskovits’ The Myth of the Negro Past (1941), were informed by an essentialist discourse called “the Negro Problem” in the United States. In “The Treatment of Negro Slaves in the Brazilian Empire,” Williams looked  to the Brazilian slave system to shed light upon the American system, and ultimately on the state of race relations during Jim Crow. Her article was a synchronic analysis of the two largest New World slave systems in the middle of the nineteenth century. Williams concluded that “the Negro Problem” in the US was avoided in Brazil as a result of Spanish and Portuguese cultures, “which harbored no prejudice towards people of Ethiopian blood.” Moreover, Williams argued that the “broad racial hospitality of the Brazilians ameliorated the conditions of the negro in slavery and saved them from becoming a menace when free.” Quotes like this show that the comparative study of slavery was used as a way to understand contemporary race relations in the US.[1]

Despite early works from scholars like Williams, the modern discussion of comparative slavery in the Atlantic World took flight after the publication of the slim book Slave and Citizen: The Negro in the Americas (1946) by the Austrian-American historian Frank Tannenbaum. In only 128 pages, Tannenbaum compared slavery in the Luso-Hispanic colonies of the New World with slavery in the Anglo-American colonies, being the British West Indies and the English territories of North America. Like Williams, Tannenbaum argued that slavery was more tolerable and less violent in Latin America, and that the transition from slavery to freedom was more smooth than in the Anglo-American territories. He attributed this difference to two main factors: the existence of a unique, Spanish legal code handed down from ancient Rome, known as the Siete Partidas, or the Justinian Codes, and the presence of the Catholic religion. For scholars of French Atlantic world, the legal counterpart to the Siete Partidas was the Black Codes, or the Code Noir. This legal code mandated, for example, that all slaves in the French colonies be converted to Catholicism. As a result, slaves were supposed to be given Sunday as an official day of rest.[2]

Tannenbaum argued that the religious and legal practices of colonial Spain were handed down from the ancient world and forged in the multicultural crucible of medieval Castile. In the medieval period, white Catholic Iberians lived alongside diverse groups of people like European travelers, Jews, and Moorish settlers. According to Tannenbaum, these legal codes and religious practices were the key to measuring the difference between racialized slave systems in the New World. The Siete Partidas insured that Portuguese and Spanish colonists were familiar with the idea that peoples of African descent could be treated as moral equals in the New World. In contrast, English societies had no medieval, legal precedent upon which to base their New World slave laws. As a result, English slave laws were unusually harsh. Tannenbaum pointed to English colonies like South Carolina, where  black slaves were forbidden to read or write, carry weapons, own property, inter-marry with other races, and raise “any horses, mares, cattle, sheep, or hogs.”[3]

Tannenbaum built the foundation for the study of comparative slavery upon several key points. He argued that slavery in Latin America was less harsh than slavery in Anglo-America because there were more cases of the following: emancipations through self-purchase; willful manumissions by white masters; the hiring out of a slave’s own labor; blacks leaving slavery with either capital, skills, or property; and free and enslaved peoples engaged in highly skilled, artisanal occupations. Like Williams, Tannenbaum saw the violent legacy of racism in North America—from the Slave laws to the Black Codes, the Klu Klux Klan, and the contemporary system of Jim Crow segregation—as evidence of the unlearned lessons regarding the moral humanity of the “negro” in Anglo-American societies. Finally, Tannenbaum claimed that, in contrast to Anglo-American regions, slavery in the Latin America colonies ended with relatively little violence. Tannenbaum did not bring either African slavery or slavery from other overseas, European empires, like the Dutch and the French, into the conversation. He did, however, note the exceptional status of Haiti, which the Afro-Trinidadian historian C.L.R. James had recently shown was dismantled in a storm of protracted, revolutionary violence.[4]

Slave and Citizen was instantly controversial. The American historian Herbert Aptheker refuted every one of Tannenbaum’s main arguments in his critique in the American Historical Review. Part of this controversy related to the fact that the study of slavery was reaching new popularity in the field of American history. The American historian Ulrich B. Phillips had largely defined the social and economic study of slavery in the ante-bellum south in two books that he published in the first three decades of the twentieth century: American Negro Slavery (1918) and Life and Labor in the Old South (1929). Now, in the 1940s, relatively radical historians in the field, like Herbert Aptheker and Alice and Raymond Bauer, were criticizing the paternalism of Phillips’ Progressive-era arguments. In this context, Tannenbaum’s work was seen as aggressive. The title spelled out his assumptions: people of African descent were seen as “slaves in Anglo-America and “citizens” in Latin America. As the American writer Harry Allen Overstreet wrote in his review, “Dr. Tannenbaum’s book is not one to make us proud of ourselves.”[5]

Many essentialist or longue durée  historians of slavery like Marvin Harris, David Brion Davis, and Orlando Patterson—who articulated his popular theory of all slavery as a form of “social death” in 1982—openly dismissed Tannenbaum’s approach. They claimed that debating the relative severity of a New World slave system was an historiographical diversion. “Beyond a certain point of brutality and dehumanization,” Patterson wrote, “differences of degree hardly matter to an oppressed population.” Nonetheless, a new generation of revisionist historians in the 1950s and the 1960s, from C. Vann Woodward to Kenneth Stampp, were already advancing the discussion of comparative slavery, largely as a result of their critiques on Phillips’ paternalist thesis of American Slavery. These historians emphasized the violent and oppressive nature of the American slave system. In doing so, they supported the idea that there was something unique about the way that black slavery unfolded in the English colonies of North America. Woodward seemed to be quoting Williams or Tannenbaum when he wrote, “The long experience of slavery in North America left its mark on the posterity of both slave and master.”[6]

In terms of comparative slavery, the most influential work from this particular generation of American scholars was Stanley Elkins’ Slavery: A Problem in American Institutional and Intellectual Life (1959). Like the works of Stampp and Woodward, this book was not explicitly comparative. Nonetheless, the work supported Tannebaum’s two main arguments that slavery in Anglo-America was a particularly dehumanizing enterprise, and that the present state of race relations in America could be explained through this exceptional legacy. To summarize, Elkins attacked the Anglo-American slave system for psychologically infantilizing the black slave, turning him into a childlike, subservient, docile, and helpless dependent that Elkins stereotyped as “Sambo.”After the publication of this work, the viewpoint that the American slave system was an exceptionally brutal institution became known as the “Tannenbaum-Elkins” thesis. Scholars like John Blassingame, who critiqued the Sambo stereotype, only lent power to the Tannenbaum argument that Anglo-American slavery was unusually violent and demanded violent resistance.[7]

Historians like Aptheker, David Brion Davis, and Patterson criticized the “Tannenbaum-Elkins thesis” for addressing comparative slavery in mostly legal terms. They argued the letter of the law did not reflect the practice, application, or reality of slave societies on the ground. In response to these critiques, followers of Tannenbaum, like Herbert Klein, explored the “social and economic dynamics” of comparative slavery in Virginia and Cuba in Slavery in the Americas (1967). Klein concluded that the slave society of Spanish Cuba had an “abundance of economic opportunity” and a “rich industrial heritage” for the upward, social mobility of black slaves. Following Tannenbaum and Williams, he argued that the Spanish crown and the Catholic Church mitigated the potentially violent behavior of white masters’ towards their black slaves. In contrast, the tobacco monoculture of Virginia was unmitigated by these external institutions. Also, Klein refocused the debate about comparative slavery on the large number of gens de coleur libres in places like colonial Cuba. To Klein and those who came after him, “free-coloreds” epitomized the Latin American emphasis on calidad, or class divisions, over racial divisions.[8]

Carl Degler followed an argumentative framework that was similar to Klein’s; however, like Williams, he chose to juxtapose the United States and Brazil because both regions were comparable in size and the extent to which slavery was entrenched as an economic institution. In Neither Black Nor White (1971), Degler focused on the sistema de castas, or the sociedad de castas, present in many Latin American societies. This referred to a relatively fluid, hybrid racial and class-based system that recognized an extraordinary range of mixed-blood individuals. The system contained descriptions for all sorts of people depending upon one’s limpieza de sangre, or “purity of blood.” Individuals in the Latin American colonies were categorized as zambos, mulattos, mestizos, quadroons, octoroons, and ninety-five other labels depending on how much non-white lineage they possessed. In contrast, Degler observed that the racial systems of Anglo-America were strictly binary, presaging the one-drop rule of American society. In other words, a slave in the English colonies was either black or white. For Degler, this strict dichotomous view precluded avenues of social mobility that were present in Latin American territories.[9]

The comparative slavery debate changed in the early 1970s. This change resulted from the rise of cliometrics—the emphasis on statistical and quantifiable history as a science—and a revival of the paternalistic thesis of American slavery. Two books that significantly contributed to this change were Time on the Cross (1974) by Robert Fogel and Stanley Engermen and Roll, Jordan, Roll (1974) by Eugene Genovese. Instead of laws or psychological legacies of slavery, these works emphasized the economics and demographics of slavery. They presented a relatively sanguine picture of the American slave system as a mutual, rational system run by paternalistic, well-intentioned masters and their loyal, obedient slaves. They argued that white masters cared for their slaves by providing them with adequate housing, food, clothing, medical care, access to potential mates and family members, and other advantages. They stated, “the typical field hand received about 90 percent of the income he produced,” and claimed that black slavery in the south was better than white, industrial wage labor in the north. As critics like Herbert Gutman and Hilary Beckles would later note, these authors ignored many downsides to American slavery that were hard to measure, like sexual violence. Regardless, in reviving the paternalistic model of American slavery articulated by Phillips, these authors argued that North American slavery was not nearly as harsh as scholars of Latin America were arguing.[10]

Underlying the paternalistic revival of the early 1970s was the demographic reality that the slave populations of Anglo-America were far more successful at reproducing than their Latin American counterparts. Paternalistic historians read the cliometrics work of slave trade historians like Philip Curtin  and John Fage. They observed that African slaves taken to the present-day nation of America accounted for roughly 6 percent of the entire African populace forced across the Atlantic Ocean on the Middle Passage during the era of the slave trade. Nonetheless, slaves that came to America had an “unusually high rate of natural increase,” so that the population increased to 4.5 million people by the beginning of the American Civil War. In contrast, Latin American societies like Brazil and Cuba needed to constantly import new slaves to sustain their numbers throughout the early-modern era. If slavery in North America was so severe, then why did slaves reproduce more successfully than their Caribbean counterparts?[11]

The revival of paternalism changed the conversation. Scholars like Richard Dunn, in his “Tale of Two Plantations” (1977), argued that the higher mortality and lower fertility rates of the Latin American colonies was not a result of any cultural, legal, or social distinctions between empires. Slaves were not reproducing more successfully in English colonies than in Spanish, Portuguese, Dutch, or French colonies. Rather, slaves were reproducing more successfully in the temperate, northern colonies than in the tropical, equatorial colonies. The English colonies of Jamaica and Barbados experienced the same low fertility and high mortality rates as French, Dutch, and Latin American colonies in the Caribbean Basin. Dunn accounted for this disproportionate death rate as a result of epidemiological factors and the excessively harsh nature of sugar cultivation. The hot, muggy, swampy, and insect-ridden climes of the circum-Caribbean insured that tropical slave plantations were breeding grounds for diseases like malaria, yaws, syphilis, and yellow fever. Additionally, the hazardous work of cutting and crushing jagged sugarcane with machetes, mill wheels, and boiling vats—and the intensive nature of seasonal harvesting—caused stress, overwork, poor nutrition, fatigue, injury, and infection. Many scholars of Caribbean history, like Trevor Burnard, Kristina Schuler, and Meredith John, have since supported Dunn’s theory that the relative severity of slave systems was informed by climate.[12]

Scholars were revising the “Tannenbaum-Elkins” thesis in the 1970s. The conversation about comparative slavery was beginning to shift from a focus on Latin American versus Anglo-American slavery, to a focus on “slave societies” versus “societies with slaves.” Even today, this distinction defines the comparative slavery debate. In his book Many Thousands Gone (1998), Ira Berlin defined a “slave society” as a society in which the economy depended solely upon the cultivation of a single, salable cash-crop commodity, and where slaveholders had succeeded in monopolizing social, political, and economic power. “Slave societies” included brutal, tropical plantations in the circum-Caribbean that transcended the particular empires that ruled them. These plantations included Cuba, St. Domingue, Santo Domingo, Brazil, Barbados, Antigua, and Jamaica. They also included North American societies like the Cotton Kingdom and the Carolina low-country, and the Chesapeake after the racialization of slavery there in the 1670s. [13]

The distinction between “slave societies” and “societies with slaves” has changed the comparative slavery debate. Since the late 1970s, scholars have been writing monographs about both types of slave systems. Historians like Michael Craton and Gail Saunders have recently explored the Bahamas as a marginal, “society with slaves” in the British empire. As they noted, the Bahamas was not based upon a rigid system of single-crop, plantation agriculture. The hot air and the poor, rocky soil of the small Bahamian islands of Eleuthera and New Providence made those regions unsuitable for the large-scale growth and export of cash crops like tobacco, ginger, indigo, sugar, rice, cotton, coffee, or cocoa. The absence of plantation monoculture meant that slaves were relatively more free to enter into other trades, particularly of the maritime variety. In the case of the Bahaman islands, trades included piloting, turtling, wrecking, diving, fishing, sailing, and logging. In the case of other “societies with slaves,” these trades included artisanal and domestic occupations in urban centers, like baking, cooperage, cleaning, or chauffeuring.[14]

Latin American scholars like Ramón Gutiérrez, Jane Landers, and Matthew Restall have studied race relations in “societies with slaves.” Their analyses of the Yucatan, Florida, and New Mexico focused on frontiers that happened to have slaves. These societies were on the fringes of the impoverished Spanish empire. They received little resources and attention, and they never developed a strict, cash-crop culture. In The Black Middle (2009) and Black Society in Spanish Florida (1999), Restall and Landers both see pardo militias and the Catholic traditions of god-parentage, family naming, and mandatory baptisms as cultural tools for the social mobility of slaves. The proximity of these colonies to their Anglo neighbors of Belize and the Carolinas, and the poor funding and military resources they received from Spain, meant that peoples of African descent were heavily demanded for defense and administration. African and bi-racial individuals like Juan Garrido, Prince Witten, George Bissau, and Francisco Menendez insinuated themselves into relatively privileged positions partly as a result of a small, white settler populations. For the Yucatan, the presence of a large, surviving indigenous population of Maya meant that black slaves were in less demand as labor. Overall, these authors suggested an inverse relationship between black mobility and the entrenchment of plantation monoculture.[15]

Historians have used the distinction of “slave societies” versus “societies with slaves” to combat the Tannenbaum-Elkins thesis. In Slave Society in Cuba During the Nineteenth Century (1970), Franklin Knight argued that the old Roman and medieval codes of colonial Spain and the cultural practices of the Roman Catholic Church lost momentum when Luso-Hispanic colonies became major sugar producers. Between 1783 and 1838, Knight demonstrated that Cuban slave society, based around the capitalistic export of raw and refined sugar, was no less violent than the slave societies of mainland America. For scholars like Knight, the principle factor in judging the severity of a given slave system was not the empire that happened to rule that society. Rather, the severity of a slave system depended upon the degree to which that system’s economy relied upon the growth and exportation of a single cash crop, like sugar, cotton, or tobacco. Scholars of Virginia, like Philip Morgan, have slightly amended this thesis. In Slave Counterpoint (1998), Morgan pointed out that the Chesapeake colonies were based upon the monoculture of tobacco, but they did not become racialized or violent “slave societies” until after the 1670s.[16]

The debate about comparative slavery has strong regional components. In comparing Virginia and the  lowcountry, Morgan contributed to a generation of scholars like Richard Dunn, Richard Wade, and Peter Wood who stressed the importance of examining regional and urban-rural differences in judging the severity of American slave systems. For Morgan, the lowcountry and the Chesapeake shared the same national culture, religion, legal system, and imperial legacy. Nonetheless, the practice of slavery was somehow much different. Slavery was far harsher in the lowcountry, particularly South Carolina and Georgia. As Morgan examines, planters from North Carolina, Bermuda, and the upper south distanced themselves from the relatively harsh, violent treatment that they perceived characterized the lower colonies. Like Dunn, Morgan stressed the importance of environmental, cultural, and material factors, as well as the capitalistic and greed-driven nature of the lowcountry planters. In this analysis, the Carolina lowcountry stood as a middle-ground between the Chesapeake and the Caribbean colonies of Barbados and Jamaica.[17]

Historians like Knight, Arthur Corwin, Craton, and Edmund and Philip Morgan have all argued that the entrenchment of the plantation system accounted for the severity of slavery in a given locale. If slavery was any less harsh in the sixteenth, seventeenth, and early eighteenth centuries, that relative ease was not the result of medieval legal precedents, imperial cultures, or Catholic/Protestant religious traditions. Rather, that relative ease was due to the fact that islands like Cuba, the Bahamas, and Haiti had modest, slave-labor populations in earlier periods. They possessed slaves that were mostly employed in specialized professions in households and urban or maritime contexts. Corwin supported the notion that Cuban slave society became much worse with the advent of sugar monoculture on the island. Both Phillip Morgan and Edmund Morgan argued that the Virginia slave system intensified when mono-agriculture became racialized towards the end of the seventeenth century. In American Slavery, American Freedom (1975), Morgan also claimed that the rapid development of Virginia after the year 1670 depended upon the ability of the colony to protect white migrants from enslavement. In this context, a discourse on freedom made slavery worse for those who were not encompassed by its logic[18]

Scholars like Peter Kolchin, Don Doyle, and Shearer Davis Bowman have also addressed the comparative nature of slavery through the topic of racialization. In Unfree Labor (1987), Kolchin compared the American slave system with the “second serfdom” of Russia. These two slave societies emerged and ended at roughly the same historical periods. In general, Kolchin observed that Russian serfs experienced more freedom, respect, and autonomy than black slaves in the America slave system, despite a legal status that prescribed similar roles to both groups. Kolchin argued that Russian, absentee nobles trusted white serfs more than American plantation owners trusted black field hands. He attributed these distinctions to the racial nature of American slavery. The racialized aspects of the American slave systems, to Kolchin, severely restricted the social boundaries of the black slave and constrained the potential for his or her freedom.[19]

African historians have added to the comparative slavery debate. These scholars include Walter Rodney, Philip Morgan, Patrick Manning, and John Thornton. They have long noted that European travelers like Álvares de Almada, Lemos Coelho, Jean-Baptiste Labat, Nicholas Owen, and Mungo Park described forms of African slavery that existed before the European slave trade. However, these African historians make an essential distinction between the class-based, feudal slave systems of traditional African societies and what the ex-slave J.W.C. Pennington has called “the chattel principle.” In the former system, African fidalgos [nobles] had the right to call upon the labor of their plebeus [commoners] during times of war, harvest, or personal need. Scholars like Rodney argue that masters in this form of traditional African slavery owned only the labor of the individual. Masters owned this labor in the way that a feudal lord from a Medieval European society owned the labor of the peasantry under his protection. In contrast, a master in the “chattel slavery” system of the New World colonies owned the physical body of the slave and could thus abuse and command that body regardless of the context. In short, these scholars of Africa have located the severity of New World slave systems in the “chattel principle.”[20]

In Social Control in Slave Plantation Societies (1971), Gwendolyn Midlo Hall added to the argument about the strict racial binary of English slave societies. Like Klein, Landers, and Restall she argued “free-coloreds” were abundant on the island of Hispaniola and largely non-existent in American slave societies. Hall chose French St. Domingue and Cuba for her analysis because they were Caribbean colonies of similar size, and they were “slave societies” based upon the production of sugar. Among her notable conclusions, she presaged the arguments of Restall and Landers, noting that militia service was an essential avenue of social mobility and escape from slavery that was absent from English societies. She also foreshadowed the argument of historians like Restall, Landers, and Sylviane Diouf that a high proportion of runaway slaves from English colonies like Georgia, Carolina, and Belize evinced the relatively benign nature of Spanish frontiers like Florida and Yucatan. Finally, Hall refuted the “Tannenbaum-Elkins” thesis by acknowledging the ghastly death and fertility rates in circum-Caribbean societies, regardless of whether they were ruled by French, Spanish, Dutch, or English colonists.[21]

The paternalistic thesis of the early 1970s claimed that the American slave system was exceptional for its mutual benefits. In the past two decades, a capitalistic thesis has argued quite the opposite. Historians like Bruce Levine, James Oakes, Edward Baptiste, and Walter Johnson have chronicled the extreme violence, brutality, and sadism of slave societies in the ante-bellum south, compounded by extreme capitalist exploitation. Baptiste and Johnson have focused on the opening of the Cotton Kingdom and the domestic American slave trade in the early nineteenth century. In Soul by Soul (1999) and River of Dark Dreams (2013), Johnson chronicled extreme violence, from the white inspectors who fondled the genitals of shackled black slaves to a white master who nailed the penis of an enslaved man to wooden bedpost. In The Half Has Never Been Told (2014), Baptiste described crazed capitalist planters who ruthlessly whipped even their most productive field hands. He described slavery in the Cotton Kingdom as a “white man’s sexual playground.” In short, the American slave societies described over the last decade are a far cry from the mutually beneficial, paternal societies of Phillips, Fogel, and Genovese.[22]

Historians like James Oakes have gauged the severity of American slavery by exploring the mindset of the typical white, American planter. In The Ruling Race (1982),  Oakes described a violent capitalist plantocracy that was white, male, agricultural, democratic, native to the south, middle-aged, and evangelical Protestant. Most importantly, he argued that most slave-owners had around 8 or 9 slaves. Masters were a diverse group, but they were united in the fact that they were “increasingly obsessed with economic prosperity.” They were crass economic opportunists, driven by the promise of success, individual achievement, social mobility, territorial expansion, political importance, and financial gain. To Oakes, paternalistic arguments in support of slavery disguised a culture of capitalistic, unequal freedom built upon the institution of unfree labor. As Edmund Morgan described in American Slavery, American Freedom, white planters were brutal to their black slaves because their entire social, economic, and political conception of freedom and identity were wrapped up in the peculiar institution. When that institution was threatened, as it seemed in the aftermath of the Haitian Revolution, white slaveholders in the Cotton Kingdom responded with increased violence and terror.[23]

The comparative slavery debate continues, but the conversation has changed dramatically since the days of Tannenbaum. Scholars no longer compare slave societies based solely upon the juxtaposition of European empires. Scholars have complicated the comparative slavery question by adding in multiple other dimensions. They are now evaluating the severity of slave societies based upon a more-complete appreciation of their manifold similarities and differences, be them demographic, legal, psychological, cultural, meteorological, political, or economic. Historians are now accounting for violence, capitalism, time, and, with the recent work of historians like Michael Gomez and Marcus Rediker, the ethnic and cultural composition of enslaved peoples themselves. This decades-long debate has taught historians an important lesson: all slave systems in the Atlantic World are exceptional in their own ways, including the American system. At the same time, historians must keep in mind that all systems of human enslavement are somewhat alike. As the scholar Orlando Patterson once wrote, every manifestation of global slavery is at least partly based upon extreme and fundamentally unequal relationships of power.[24]

[1]Mary Wilhelmine Williams, “The Treatment of Negro Slaves in the Brazilian Empire, a Comparison with the United States,” The Journal of Negro History, 15, no. 3 (July, 1930): 335, 336. Melville Herskovitz, The Myth of the Negro Past (New York: Harper and Brothers Publishers, 1941).

[2]Frank Tannenbaum, Slave and Citizen: The Negro in the Americas (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1946).

[3]Frank Tannenbaum, Slave and Citizen: The Negro in the Americas, 74.

[4]Ibid, iv, xvi, 7; C.L.R. James, The Black Jacobins: Toussaint L’Ouverture and the San Domingo Revolution (New York: The Dial Press, 1938).

[5]Herbert Aptheker, “Slave and Citizen: The Negro in the Americas,” The American Historical Review 52, no. 4 (1947): 755-757; Ulrich Bonnell Phillips, American Negro Slavery (New York: D. Appleton and Company, 1918); Life and Labor in the Old South (Columbia, SC: Little, Brown and Company, 1929);  Herbert Aptheker, American Negro Slave Revolts (New York: Columbia University Press, 1943); Raymond Bauer and Alice Bauer, “Day to Day Resistance to Slavery,” Journal of American Negro History, 27, no. 2 (1942): 388-419; H.A. Overstreet, “Book Review: Slave and Citizen: The Negro in the Americas,” Industrial and Labor Relations Review 1, no. 3 (Apr., 1948): 520.

[6]Orlando Patterson, “ETHNOLOGY: Slavery in the Americas: A Comparative Study of Virginia and Cuba,” American Anthropologist 72, no. 1 (February, 1970): 147-148; Marvin Harris, Patterns of Race in the Americas (New York: Walker, 1964); David Brion Davis, Inhuman Bondage: the Rise and Fall of Slavery in the New World (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2006); Orlando Patterson, Slavery and Social Death: A Comparative Study (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1982); Kenneth Stampp, The Peculiar Institution: Slavery in the Antebellum South (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1956); C. Vann Woodward, The Strange Career of Jim Crow (New York: Oxford University Press, 1955), 11.

[7]Stanley Elkins, Slavery: A Problem in American Institutional and Intellectual Life (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1959), 82-84; John Blassingame, The Slave Community: Plantation Life in the Antebellum South (New York: Oxford University Press, 1972), 224-225.

[8]Herbert Klein, Slavery in the Americas: A Comparative Study of Virginia and Cuba (Chicago: Chicago University Press, 1967), viii, 162-163. David Brion Davis, The Problem of Slavery in Western Culture (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1966), 225.

[9]Carl Degler, Neither Black Nor White: Slavery and Race Relations in the U.S. and Brazil (New York: Macmillan, 1971), 102, 121.

[10]Robert Fogel and Stanley Engerman, Time of the Cross: The Economics of American Negro Slavery (Boston: Little, Brown and Company, 1974), 5-6. 78-79; Eugene Genovese, Roll, Jordan, Roll (New York: Random House, 1974). Hilary Beckles, Afro-Caribbean Women and Resistance to Slavery in Barbados (London: Karnak House, 1988); Herbert Gutman, Slavery and the Numbers Game: A Critique of Time on the Cross (Champaign-Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 1975);.

[11]Philip D. Curtin, The Atlantic Slave Trade: A Census (Madison: The University of Wisconsin Press, 1969); John Fage, “The Effect of the Slave Trade on African Population, in The Population Factor in African Studies, edited by R.J.A.R. Rathbone and R.P. Moss, 15-23; Robert Fogel and Stanley Engerman, Time of the Cross, 29.

[12]Richard Dunn, “Tale of Two Plantations: Slave Life in Mesopotamia in Jamaica and Mount Airy in Virginia, 1799 to 1828,” In: William and Mary College Quarterly Historical Magazine 34, no. 1 (1977). Trevor Burnard, Mastery, Tyranny, and Desire: Thomas Thistlewood and His Slaves in the Anglo-Jamaican World (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2004); Kristina Schuler, “Life and Death on a Barbadian Sugar Plantation: Historic and Bioarchaeological Views of Infection and Mortality at Newton Plantation,” International Journal of Osteoarchaeology 21, no. 1 (2011): 66-81; A. Meredith John, The Plantation Slaves of Trinidad, 1783-1816: A Mathematical and Demographic Enquiry (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1988).

[13]Ira Berlin, Many Thousands Gone: The First Two Centuries of Slavery in North America (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1998) 10.

[14]Michael Craton and Gail Saunders, Islanders in the Stream: A History of the Bahamian People From Aboriginal Times to the End of Slavery (Athens, GA: University of Georgia Press, 1992).

[15]Matthew Restall, The Black Middle: Africans, Mayans, and Spaniards in Colonial Yucatan (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2009); Jane Landers, Black Society in Spanish Florida (Champaign-Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 1999); Ramón Gutiérrez, When Jesus Came, the Corn Mothers Went Away: Marriage, Sexuality, and Power in New Mexico, 1500-1846 (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1991).

[16]Franklin Knight, Slave Society in Cuba During the Nineteenth Century (Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 1970); Philip Morgan, Slave Counterpoint: Black Culture in Eighteenth Century Chesapeake and Lowcountry (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1998) 103, 295.

[17]Richard Dunn, “Tale of Two Plantations;” Richard Wade, Slavery in the Cities: The South 1820-1860 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1967); Peter Wood, Black Majority: Negroes in Colonial South Carolina from 1670 Through the Stono Rebellion (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1974); Philip Morgan, Slave Counterpoint, 103.

[18]Franklin Knight, Slave Society in Cuba During the Nineteenth Century; Michael Craton, A History of the Bahamas (London: Collins, 1962); Arthur Corwin, Spain and the Abolition of Slavery in Cuba, 1817-1886 (Austin: The University of Texas Press, 1968); Edmund Morgan, American Slavery, American Freedom (New York: W.W. Norton and Company, 1975), 3-9; Philip Morgan, Slave Counterpoint.

[19]Peter Kolchin, Unfree Labor: American Slavery and Russian Serfdom  (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1987); Don Doyle, Nations Divided: America, Italy, and the Southern Question (Athens: University of Georgia Press, 2002); Shearer Davis Bowman, Masters and Lords: Mid-19th-Century U.S. Planters and Prussian Junkers (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1993). James W.C. Pennington, The Fugitive Blacksmith: Or Events in the Life of James W.C. Pennington (London: n.p., 1849) iv-xi.

[20]Walter Rodney, A History of the Upper Guinea Coast, 1545-1800 (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1970); John Thornton, Africa and Africans in the Making of the Atlantic World, 1400-1800 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998); Patrick Manning, Slavery and African Life: Occidental, Oriental, and African Slave Trades (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1990); Philip Morgan, “African and the Atlantic, c. 1450 to c. 1820,” 223-248. In Atlantic History: A Critical Appraisal (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009).

[21]Gwendolyn Midlo Hall, Social Control in Slave Plantation Societies: A Comparison of Saint-Domingue and Cuba (Baton Rouge, LA: Louisiana State University Press, 1971), 16; Matthew Restall, The Black Middle; Jane Landers, Black Society in Spanish Florida; Sylviane Diouf, Slavery’s Exiles: The Story of the American Maroons (New York: New York University Press, 2014).

[22]Bruce Levine, The Fall of the House of Dixie: The Civil War and the Social Revolution that Transformed the South (New York: Random House, 2013); James Oaks, Slavery and Freedom: An Interpretation of the Old South (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1990); Walter Johnson, Soul by Soul: Life Inside the the Antebellum Slave Market (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1999); River of Dark Dreams: Slavery and Empire in the Cotton Kingdom (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2013), 171; Edward Baptiste, The Half Has Never Been Told: Slavery and the Making of American Capitalism (New York: Basic Books, 2014), 140, 238.

[23]James Oakes, The Ruling Race: A History of American Slaveholders (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1982), 72; Edmund Morgan, American Slavery, American Freedom.

[24]Michael Gomez, Exchanging our Country Marks: The Transformation of African Culture in the Antebellum South (Chapel Hill: The University of North Carolina Press, 1998). Orlando Patterson, Slavery and Social Death (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1982), 1; Marcus Rediker, The Amistad: An Atlantic Odyssey of Slavery and Freedom (New York: Penguin Group, 2012).