I Got Married at a Plantation Home and My Apology Is Not Enough
By: Lauren Salles
Tags: Plantation, Race, Weddings, Slavery, White Privilege

Born and raised just outside of New Orleans, I grew up with great admiration for the big city and its culture. I spent many weekends walking around the French Quarter, delighting in the street artists and jazz musicians lining the square. Among them were kids wearing homemade tap shoes (with coke cans taped to the bottom) dancing for money.

My mom often took me through the French Market downtown where we would buy food (including fresh jambalaya and po’boys), jewelry, and crafts from the vendors.

If you know the city of New Orleans, then I don’t have to tell you that most (if not all) of the performers, artists, musicians, chefs, and merchants are Black.

And here’s the irony: At the epicenter of the French Quarter, officially named Jackson Square, stands a monstrous 20,000-pound equestrian statue of former president Andrew Jackson. Not only did Jackson own slaves himself, but owned 150 people by the time of his death in 1845. He used many of these people to make improvements to the White House, including adding stables and running water.

Jackson’s participation in owning enslaved Black people helped cement the issues that many Black Americans still face today, and his memory is monumentalized at the center of a majority-Black city that owes so much of its culture to the Black community. It’s quite a disturbing paradox.

Other examples of White supremacy and the cultural appropriation of the Black and Native American community in NOLA can be during Mardi Gras, the city’s biggest celebration and moneymaking tourist experience. The popular parade “Zulu” (named after the African Zulu tribe) involves White people painting their faces black, wearing animalistic costumes, and throwing coconuts off of floats. Not only is this dehumanizing and demeaning, but it shows blatant disrespect for a culture that embodies the essence of New Orleans.

It took a lifetime for me to realize that the city I love so much is marred by racism, White supremacy, and cultural appropriation.

Where I grew up, White people exploited Black people’s food, music, and art, but we lived in completely separate worlds. I lived in a White neighborhood and attended private Catholic schools all my life, where less than 1% of the student body was Black. I never had a Black teacher, nor did I have close relationships with anyone who was Black.

My White privilege and conditioning shielded me from thinking about the history of the place where I was going to say my vows.

For this reason, I learned a “whitewashed” version of history that lacked representation from minority perspectives. My American history classes (there weren’t many to begin with) were taught in a way that made it seem like racial inequality was “all behind us.” Slavery was ancient history. There were no discussions of how the past events in our country still impact us to this day. There was no emphasis on the far-reaching repercussions of slavery and segregation in modern America.

So, after I got engaged in 2015, I chose a plantation home as my wedding venue without hesitation.

My White privilege and conditioning shielded me from thinking about the history of the place where I was going to say my vows.

When I visited the plantation home, all I saw was a pretty house and beautiful lush gardens. I did not see a living relic of the pain and suffering endured by Black people who were brutalized and murdered on those grounds.

I didn’t learn of the history of Houmas House until recently, but I researched and now know that the house was once the center of the largest slave holding in Louisiana with over 800 enslaved Black Americans. And that is where I celebrated a joyous occasion surrounded by family and friends. My husband and I began our marriage, one of the happiest days of my life, at an institution that was built by enslaved people. Now, when I think of my wedding, I also think of the injustices suffered by people of color.

And my apology will never be enough.

To quote the wise Maya Angelou: “Do the best you can until you know better. Then when you know better, do better.”

I was spurred to research the truth about the plantation after the recent protests surrounding the deaths of Ahmaud Arbery, Breonna Taylor, and George Floyd. To Angelou’s point, I know better now, but I didn’t know better when I got married at that plantation home four years ago. And while “not knowing” may be true, it’s not an excuse. I understand that I don’t get to just “let it go” and “move on.” Racism, White supremacy, and White fragility are still oppressing our Black brothers and sisters today. I have an obligation to stand up for what I now know is right, and that’s why I feel compelled to share my story. I still have so much to learn about my ingrained racism — how to dismantle it and how to become an anti-racist — as well as how to advocate for, support, and stand with Black people in this world. But I’m committed to doing the work. And I hope that by watching me confront my own wrongdoing, other White people will be inspired to do the same.

I no longer live there, but next time I visit my family in Louisiana, I will tour the Whitney Plantation (which does not host weddings). Whitney is one of the only plantation homes in the state that remains honest about its history and continues to hold space for and honor the memory of enslaved Black ancestors.

We cannot erase our history, but we can (and must) learn from it. We need to educate ourselves and move forward so that history does not keep repeating itself.

Here are three practices that I have started implementing in my own life to combat racial injustice. (Please notice that I called them “practices,” meaning that these are lifelong endeavors that I will continue pursuing indefinitely. I am not intending to minimize the importance of this work by summarizing it into a short list; I’m humbly offering a starting point for those who have just “woken up” as I have):

1. Listen and learn from the Black community and leaders who identify as Black.

Black voices have historically been drowned out by all of the “white noise.” This is true for me and I suspect that it is true for many others as well. Diversify the things that you consume, including your social media feed, the books that you read, and the podcasts that you listen to in order to gain some perspective. And remember — listen to gain understanding, not to formulate a response or rebuttal. Otherwise, you’re not truly listening.

2. Have discussions about what you are learning with those closest to you — your family, friends, and children. Anti-racism is first and foremost an inside job that begins at home. As you are doing the work, talk about it with those in your immediate circle. Constructive dialogue between people will help move society forward in the right direction. Though these conversations may be uncomfortable, they are extremely necessary. Remember: Feelings of discomfort do not matter more than Black lives.

3. Integrate what you are learning into your lifestyle. Surround yourself with a rich and diverse community, seek out and support Black businesses, donate regularly to organizations dedicated to improving the quality of Black lives in America and advocating for social justice.

The fight for racial equality will look different for each individual. What matters most is that you are actively trying and not attempting to evade it. By avoiding the topic of race, you are taking advantage of White privilege. Black people don’t have the luxury of “ignoring” racism, because it impacts them every day of their lives.

As White people, we have an obligation to work toward dismantling the white supremacist system that we all play a part in. Let’s learn from, stand alongside, and march with our Black and Brown sisters and brothers so that we can make our nation better.