In 1712, enslaved Africans who led a fiery revolt in New York were made an example. Authorities retaliated with lantern laws and the criminalization of Black gatherings. But the Black population was growing, and becoming harder to control.
Decades later, a cluster of fires resulted in a conspiracy theory: “The Great Negro Plot of 1741.”
One fire was a fluke. Two were a coincidence. Ten were suspicious. When authorities bribed a 16-year-old white indentured servant, she described the enslaved population’s plans to burn down the city and incinerate 9,000 white people to “create a new society.” No one knows if that was true.
Over the five-month investigation, hundreds of Black “suspects” remained silent, or admitted to whatever might keep them alive. These “confessions” shook whites who were ignorant of the inner worlds of Black people.
We gathered, organized, and raged outside of their watchful eyes. And it frightened them.
Authorities executed 30 enslaved people. Seventy were deported, and others “self-deported” to avoid execution. Others were coerced into plea bargaining for lighter sentences.
Black resistance, whether real, imagined, or mythical, has always been at the core of institutional white fear. To the state, we are interchangeable and suspicious. All resistance, “violent” or not, is dangerous and criminal.
We may never know the truth behind this alleged conspiracy. But we know this: The story of our resistance is ours to shape.