This is the second installment of a two-part series about state attempts to make apologies and the mapping of land that was denied to the Randolph Freedpeople. The first section is available here.
CHICKASAW As she trudged down a snowy street in Chickasaw, Ohio, Paisha Thomas remarked, “This could have been my neighborhood.” That enrages me.
About six miles west of the center of New Bremen, the Miami and Erie Canal terminus, is the village of Mercer County. Nearly 180 years ago, a white mob drove Thomas’s ancestors from their land.
A group of about 400 men and women known as the Randolph Freedpeople were freed from slavery by the will of their former owner. Although John Randolph was a well-known landowner and politician in Virginia, emancipated slaves were not allowed to stay in the state according to state rules. In addition to releasing his slaves, Randolph’s will left money for William Leigh, his executor, to buy land on their behalf.
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Western Ohio drew Leigh in. A $200 bond must be posted by employers to prevent a Black employee from becoming a public charge, according to the state’s strict Black rules, but these laws were hardly ever implemented. Leigh instead saw a rural, poorly inhabited area near New Bremen that was home to a small but vibrant Black community known as Carthagena.
When the freedpeople arrived, white men brandishing muskets drove them away and even marched along the canal until they reached the county border. Leigh had purchased about 3,200 acres for them.
Although they finally made their homes in a number of places, including as Rossville outside of Piqua, the Randolph Freedpeople were never successful in having the land bought for them. Many found employment as workers or domestic services rather than homesteading. A group of descendants petitioned Ohio courts to return their land in the early 1900s, but the statute of limitations caused the case to be dismissed.
The precise location of the properties was not commonly known until a group of Miami University students took on the tale as a class assignment, even though the deeds for that land remained. They initially created a map of the Randolph parcels, which included 3,140 of the total acres acquired, towards the end of last year.
However, even while it gives the loss a more concrete form, the issue of how to make amends remains very much open. A state senator wants Ohio to formally apologize and acknowledge the mob event.
However, the local lawmaker appears more likely to abandon it than to stay. In the meantime, Thomas and other descendants want much more than an apology; they want to be compensated for what was lost.
Approximately 200 pieces of property, located west and south of Grand Lake St. Marys, are now part of the Randolph Freedpeople’s land. Although there are a few commercial or industrial portions and a few of residential parcels in the northeast corner of what is now Chickasaw, almost all of it is still used for agriculture.
The irony of the street names that appeared on a piece of property intended for the Randolph Freedpeople—Liberty Street, which curved smoothly into Virginia Street—made Thomas laugh. It’s a small community of ranch-style homes from the 1970s with wide front lawns and no gates; the houses are lovely but not ostentatious. She talked about how her family was dispersed over Piqua when she was growing up.
According to Thomas, this may have been a neighborhood of people shouting and going across the yard. That is annoying.
The big grain silos a few hundred yards from the street really caught her attention.
I felt like I asked for it because I came here, but as we turned the corner and saw the farm and the grain storage next to a residential house, it was like there was no questioning or rejecting it anymore. Since it’s for someone else, there is concrete proof of what might be.
Thomas considers what was lost in terms of generations. According to her, the Randolph Freedpeople lost out on about two centuries’ worth of revenue that could have been generated by farms, in addition to the approximately five square miles of land that has increased in value over time.
She wants the state to try, even though it’s probably hard to place a monetary value on that.
To campaign for descendants and increase awareness, Thomas founded the nonprofit organization Land of the Freed. In Rossville, a community west of Piqua where several Randolph Freedpeople families settled after being turned away in Mercer County, the group has taken the lead in restoring African Jackson Cemetery.
In Ohio, hundreds of freed slaves were refused land by a white mob; a congressman seeks to make amends.
Butch Hamilton, a member of the Land of the Freed board, grew up with Thomas. He’s taking a long perspective, just like Thomas.
How much money has Paisha’s family lost since they are unable to claim and settle on the land? He stated, “That’s the idea that comes to mind.” The second thing that comes to mind is, “Well, what will be done to make the whole situation right?”
Sherri Hamilton, his wife, who also sits on the board, admitted that the task appeared to be impossible.
According to her, there is most likely no way to return what was taken so many centuries later. However, something must be done.
According to the Miami University analysis, the Randolph plots are currently valued at almost $14 million. However, that is probably far less than what the land would sell for on the free market because a large portion of the acreage is valued for its agricultural purpose. The land that the students identified would be worth around $4,500 per acre at $14 million. A few recent agricultural land sales in Mercer County that are posted on Zillow range from $16,500 to $21,600 per acre, although an Ohio State University survey estimated that agricultural land in the Western part of Ohio was more like $11,500 per acre.
Butch Hamilton maintained that despite the complexity of the value dilemma, it cannot be avoided.
“We keep saying we need to do something,” he remarked. The family must receive financial compensation as the necessary action. There must be a payoff, after all.
Whatever term you choose, reparations are a political third rail, especially among Republicans. According to the reasoning, compensating descendants benefits those who were not directly hurt by taking from those who did nothing wrong.
Nevertheless, there are noteworthy historical examples. In the 1980s, President Ronald Reagan signed off on payments to Japanese Americans interned during World War II. In the 1990s, Florida Gov. Lawton Chiles approved a $2.1 million measure tocompensate residents of Rosewood, a Black town razed by a white mob in 1923.
While Thomas and the Hamiltons are thinking in terms of generations, state Rep. Donatvius Jarrells, D-Columbus, has to think in terms of votes. His long-term ambitions are nearly as high, but in a General Assembly controlled by Republicans he s conscious of what is and isn t possible.
He wants to begin with a resolution formally apologizing for what happened to the Randolph Freedpeople. Jarrells is expecting to introduce that proposal sometime in February to align with Black History Month.
I think that resolution is kind of the first step, he explained, because many of his colleagues aren t aware of what occurred.
And so, it gives us an opportunity to, one, have a baseline of knowledge across our chamber on what happened to these Ohioans, and then opens the door for conversations about what we can do.
Jarrells floated the idea of a museum or a scholarship fund as ways the state might make amends to Randolph Freedpeople descendants, and he said Thomas and the Hamiltons have a point when it comes to money. Jarrells said many of the struggles he s heard about from descendants trace their way back to this one point of time where they could have built wealth, and then that wealth was taken away from them.
But Jarrells may face headwinds simply getting the General Assembly to take up an apology resolution.
He wants to co-sponsor the measure with state Rep. Angie King, R-Celina, whose district covers the entirety of Mercer County. But speaking after a recent session, King said she didn t know what Jarrells was working on. Although King said she s familiar with the Randolph Freedpeople story, she did not answer questions about what, if anything, the state should do now.
That s my comment, she said. As a county recorder, I m familiar with it because we digitized the records.
Ohio Capital Journal sent King s office a follow up email seeking additional comment. She did not reply.
The Mercer County Historical Society is based at the Riley House Museum in Celina, Ohio. The organization has a small mountain of documents related to the Randolph Freedpeople as part of its collection. But museum Director Cait Clark, acknowledges even in Mercer County the event is largely forgotten.
I d say the broader population probably doesn t know, and they definitely should, she said.
When it comes to how public officials should make amends, Clark is quick to note that s a decision outside her purview. But drawing a comparison to how native Americans were pushed off their land, she argued, if there s nothing that can be done to fix the past directly, the minimum you can do for these people is to acknowledge what happened. If nothing else, acknowledge it.
Clark expressed doubts about the possibility of compensating descendants in the current political climate, but added, if it was my family, I would definitely want acknowledgement and some form of compensation, because this was highly disruptive to a group of people.
As for what her organization can do, Clark emphasized education through articles, public displays, or historical markers.
Our role in it could be small or large, she said, it just depends on how far we get.
Meanwhile, Thomas and the Hamiltons aren t exactly impressed with an apology resolution.
That s an example of crumbs, Butch Hamilton said. And we re in a day and age where that s not acceptable anymore.
Even if it s a first step, he insisted that there need to be further steps, and fast This case has been going on since 1846, he argued.
If the state acts, whether through direct payments to descendants or something more diffuse like a scholarship program, there will likely be those who see it as a misguided response to a historical wrong. Sherri Hamilton acknowledged how wary people become when reparations become part of the conversation. But she argued that s not an excuse to sweep past-wrongs under the rug.
Take the African American experience out of it. Take the Blackness out of it, she said. Just say these are human beings who had land stolen from them. Now, if they were whomever, the German immigrants that settled in New Bremen, what would be done for them? And then that s the answer.
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