Scarred Blueprints

Dear 21st Century America, 

 

I hope that you all were taught that I, Thomas Jefferson, was a man who heard a call and answered it. Back in 1776, a congress of esteemed white men asked me to help translate the feeling of hunger into words of eloquence. We were hungry for freedom, and the Declaration of Independence tasted like one of the most delicious meals I've ever cooked. Drafting this document wasn't all too hard for me because I've always had an affinity for blueprints. I regarded myself as a critical thinker...a man who discovered purpose in my imagination and a talent for making sure that things would be built. A "go-getter," I mastered whatever I deemed necessary in order to climb over the mountain of dreams, and land in intellectual and material wealth.

 

In retrospect, however, I admit there was an admirable skill that I never really mastered. I could write about freedom and think about inalienable rights, but somehow, I never lived out these ideas wholeheartedly. Like many of my privileged white brethren and sisters, I posited myself as a leader that stood tall for liberty. Yet, the truth told otherwise. Most of me fell into the gulf of self-interest, not only during the American Revolution, but throughout my entire life as well.

 

To make my narrative clearer and perhaps more complex to you as a result, I should tell you that my mentality was conflicted. During my life, I took pride in my enterprise, especially Monticello. Before its construction, I had an abstract, mental blueprint of what the residence would look like, and I could have tried building it with the help of hard work and my own two hands. However, it was easier to enslave Africans and make them accountable for my dreams, no matter how they felt.

 

That alone underscored a continuing flaw in my life. I was "Master," overseeing humans, as if they were property. For example, I'm sure more of you today know about the Hemingses' role in my life, a hard story to tell. A gist of it though is that they were slaves I've treated differently because of their mixed race, yet at the core, still regarded to be inferior. I was at one time a governor too during the Revolution. Sometimes, I felt the pressure wanted to digress into privacy. Looking back though, how was it fair for me to run away from the public eye while those I enslaved faced public humiliation, emasculation, discrimination, and so on daily?  For solace, one of my favorite places of travel was Paris. It felt like an escape, seeming to ease the consciousness of my position as a slave master. I felt free to just be Enlightened. Still, I would bring some of my dearest slaves along, and I even caught myself being a slave to appearances. In France, I would transform my American attire into something "Parisian enough" so that I could be accepted. I was in my own type of bondage too.

 

By now, you probably have a greater understanding of the complications that emerged out of my life. At the beginning of this letter, I said I wanted you all to remember me as a man who heard a call and answered it. Well, it's time for me to be honest. There were so many contradictions that enslaved me, and I'm still not quite sure if I've been freed. I don't know if this letter will do anything for you, 21st Century America, but I hope that you all learn from my mistakes. Don't be a slave to scarred blueprints. Liberate yourselves.

 

Sincerely,

 

Thomas Jefferson