AR+Diary+Da+Bin+L.

  

Diary 1 "Hi, my name is Vincent."

Social Class: Working in a tobacco plantation, he is an African American slave, who is considered to belong in the very bottom of the class stratification.
 * Name:** Vincent Flora
 * Age:** 18-year-old
 * Gender:** male
 * Occupation:** He is currently an African American slave living in a southern colony, working in one of the largest tobacco plantation in Virginia. Later on, when the war breaks out, he wants to join the Royal Army in order to free himself; he does enlist himself in the Ethiopian Regiment of Lord Dunmore.
 * Financial situation:** He does not get paid for his labor; the only rewards for his all-day-long work in the plantation are meals (two times a day) and a shabby shelter to sleep in.
 * Appearance:** He is extraordinarily tall and has never seen anyone taller than he is. Although somewhat in a skinny build due to malnutrition, he is born strong. His skin color is very dark, yet the color of his pupil is even darker. His hands and feet are huge.
 * Location:** (show us on a map) His current location is in Western part of Virginia (Clarksburg).

**Past/individual-family history:** His brother, William, and Vincent were sold to this plantation when they were very young. Separation from their parents at such young ages is still remembered tragic. Social relations with your own and other classes (people you deal with or know about in other classes, AND your opinions and feelings about them): Vincent is afraid of the white people; however, the conception of white superiority will efface away.
 * Habitual locations:** He spends most of his day in the tobacco plantation field.
 * Daily routine:** He is forced to wake up at 5 o’clock and receives fairly large amount of rice and beans without flavor. With his “gang” (plantations in southern colonies promoted “gang system”), he begins his labor in the field at 5:30 AM. His labor continues until noon without a rest. At noon, his gang receives a small pot full of lukewarm soup and a large bottle of water to alleviate the hunger. Then, Vincent continues to work until 5:00 PM and gets to rest for an hour. He usually either sleeps or has conversation with his fellows during the hour. From 6:00 PM, he carries loads on a wooden wagon and delivers them to a warehouse for an hour. When the sun goes down, he is allowed to go back to the shelter. Exhausted from the labor, he falls asleep quite quickly.
 * Personality/Quirks/Unique Personality Traits:** Although his extraordinary height and an expressionless face may make people perceive him with fear, Vincent is a young, naïve boy who wants break out from the plantation life. He is still an inexperienced young boy whose principles are vulnerable. He is highly influenced by the members in his gang, especially by the oldest man named James Whapple who constantly talks about freedom in the North colonies. Despite his strength, Vincent is afraid of the physical abuses and violence. However, as time passes, his intelligence grows tremendously. His ardor and desire for freedom grow as well as he read more and more about “the liberty” and “naturally given rights” of men.
 * Family:** Vincent has a brother, and he also works in the same plantation. However, he has not seen his parents for more than ten years.
 * Religion:** He claims himself as a Christian, yet he cannot read the Bible due to his illiteracy.
 * Education:** He had received no official education; yet h is extraordinary intelligence allows him to become literate after years of learning how to read or write with his teacher William Whapple, an old slave—the only literate one among the slaves in the plantation.
 * Portrait:**

Diary 2 "Who Rules?" When the sun was yet to rise, I opened my eyes since I heard a loud, unpleasant noise. It did not take me very long to find out what that noise was. It was Tommy’s moaning. Last night, he continuously complained about his headache and stomachache, yet no one paid attention. We all thought it was his habitual faking of sickness, since he often pretended to be ill to get the most comfortable and the warmest place to lie down and sleep through the night. Unfortunately, last night’s complaints were not false, although no one believed his words until this morning. It soon became 5 o’clock in the morning, and Mr. Hale came into our shelter to force people to get up. Tommy failed to stand up—he had hard time opening his eyes. His sweat made his shabby shirt wet, and his lips were cracking. I wanted to stay in and take care of him, but Mr. Hale laughed at me when I asked if I could do so. He yelled at me to go out to the field immediately, therefore I had to leave poor Tommy behind alone in the shelter. Even though I was very worried about Tommy’s condition, I nearly forgot about Tommy after five hours of straight labor.  At noon, Mr. Hale ordered me to go to the master’s house and serve food for the lunch meeting that my master had today with his friends. My master—Mr. Oliver—regularly held a lunch meeting with his friends (masters of other plantations, according to Mr. Hale) and always wanted me to serve the food for the particular event. Since I knew I would be whipped if I were a minute late, I ran to the house from the field. There was no time for me to enjoy my noon snack, yet I preferred hunger than the pain of whipping.  As usual, I closed my lips and began delivering food from the kitchen to the large table out in the garden. When the total number of seventeen dishes full of various types of food was served, I stood behind my master like a wooden statue. My master and his friends did not care about my presence and continued their conversation.  “**British Parliament shall not take my property away from me!**” my mastered said angrily. “**What a despotic decision the Sugar Act is**,” one of his friends responded. “British government must allow representations from several colonies, **since they have grown so large and numerous**.” <span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0)"> <span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0)">Even though I never formally learned anything about politics or government, I actually knew what they were talking about. I could understand their conversation through a shallow knowledge that I had gained through serving food for the every lunch meeting in which they talked about the same issue over and over. **My master always complained about the “unfair” taxation that the British Parliament imposed.** <span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0)"> <span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0)">“**Every British subject born on the continent of America, or in any other of the British dominions, is by law of God and nature, entitled to all the natural, essential, and inseparable rights of our fellow subjects in Great Britain.** Have you heard of any case in which a British subject in Great Britain paying an extra tax to buy a pack of sugar?” my master asked. <span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0)">“Not that I heard of, no.” one replied. <span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0)">“How absurd it is to talk about **liberty when my property is taken away without consent**!” another friend of my master added. <span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0)"> <span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0)">To be honest, I did not care about any issue over parliamentary sovereignty and virtual representation. Those issues do not directly relate to my daily life. Whether the White colonists get to send their representatives in Parliament (as my master wished) or not simply did not matter for me. No matter what happens, I had to work in the plantation all day long. My master loves to talk about liberty with his friends during the lunch meetings. Liberty, natural rights, and inseparable rights—these are some words he always uses. Moreover, he often refers law of God and law of nature. When he does that, I cannot help but wonder. If God has given my master and his friends the natural, essential, and inseparable rights just because they are subject born on the continent of America (or any other of the British dominions as my master mentioned,) why hasn’t God given Tommy and me the natural right?

<span style="font-size: 180%; font-family: Tahoma,Geneva,sans-serif"><span style="font-size: 150%; color: rgb(255, 187, 0); font-family: 'Lucida Sans Unicode','Lucida Grande',sans-serif">Diary 3 I never formally learned anything about politics, yet I have a shallow knowledge that I had gained through serving food for every lunch meeting in which my master and his friends talked about the same issue over and over. My master always complained about the “unfair” taxation that the British Parliament imposed on the colonists. At first, I did not care anything about parliamentary system and virtual representation. It simply did not matter for me. Whether the White colonists get to send their representatives in Parliament (as my master wished) or not simply did not matter for me. No matter what happens, I had to work in the plantation all day long. That’s what I thought. However, this issue about taxation soon ended up impacting my daily life in an unexpected way. I heard a new law called the Stamp Act passed by the British Parliament imposes taxes on any legal document and even on playing cards. In order to pay the raised tax without hurting his accumulated wealth, my master has decided to make our working hours longer so that more amount of tobacco can be produced from the plantation. Therefore now I wish the taxes to be repealed so that my master will not force me to work longer. Currently, my master is not happy about the fact that **the governor of Virginia refused to convene an assembly to send delegates for the Stamp Act Congress.** Despite the fact that Virginia has not sent a delegate for the Congress, my master and his friends constantly have conversation about the Stamp Act Congress’s Declarations. One of the reasons why late Acts of Parliament should be repealed that they always discuss about is that **the restrictions and taxes imposed by several late Acts would disturb the colonial trade, making it hard to purchase the British manufactured goods**. This sounded more like a gentle threat; I remember my master once saying how the White colonists are trying to attempt boycott against the imports from Britain. Another reason listed in the Declaration that my master and his friends discussed about was that **colonists born within the Kingdom of Great Britain have inherent Rights and Liberties that are naturally given. During the discussion with his friends, my master insisted that due to the naturally given rights, the Parliament should not take away his property without his consent.** Whenever he talks about the “naturally” given rights, I always ask myself. Why do I not have that right? I was born in America within the Kingdom of Great Britain. But why do I have to be forced to work in the plantation all day while my master gets to sit down and discuss about his natural rights? When I raised this question to Mr. Hale, he was somewhat shocked and told me never to ask such question again. media type="youtube" key="127t7Y96tHo" width="425" height="350"

(I tried to adjust the voice by using garage band; if it is too difficult to understand, please listen to this podcast below.) <span style="font-size: 180%; font-family: Tahoma,Geneva,sans-serif"><span style="font-size: 150%; color: rgb(255, 187, 0); font-family: 'Lucida Sans Unicode','Lucida Grande',sans-serif">  <span style="font-size: 180%; font-family: Tahoma,Geneva,sans-serif"><span style="font-size: 150%; color: rgb(255, 187, 0); font-family: 'Lucida Sans Unicode','Lucida Grande',sans-serif">media type="custom" key="2068572"


 * document used = Declarations of the Stamp Act Congress (1765)

<span style="font-size: 180%; font-family: Tahoma,Geneva,sans-serif"><span style="font-size: 150%; color: rgb(255, 187, 0); font-family: 'Lucida Sans Unicode','Lucida Grande',sans-serif">Diary 4: A Letter To Another Character

<span style="font-family: Tahoma,Geneva,sans-serif"><span style="font-family: Georgia,serif"><span style="font-size: 110%; font-family: 'Lucida Console',Monaco,monospace">Dear Paul Adams, <span style="font-family: Tahoma,Geneva,sans-serif"><span style="font-family: Georgia,serif"><span style="font-size: 110%; font-family: 'Lucida Console',Monaco,monospace"> <span style="font-family: Tahoma,Geneva,sans-serif"><span style="font-family: Georgia,serif"><span style="font-size: 110%; font-family: 'Lucida Console',Monaco,monospace">Please read this letter alone and burn the paper down as soon as you finish reading. I have sent this letter risking my life, so I beg you to lend me just a few minutes of your day. I am a black man who lives and works in one of the biggest tobacco plantation of West Virginia. Before you judge me with my occupation and race, please be aware of the fact that I am a literate man who has read about the revolutionary atmosphere of Americans through daily papers. I understand how intimidating it would be to stay in an office as a royal politician in this land at this right moment. I decided to take this daring action, writing a letter to you, to ask some questions. <span style="font-family: Tahoma,Geneva,sans-serif"><span style="font-family: Georgia,serif"><span style="font-size: 110%; font-family: 'Lucida Console',Monaco,monospace">One of my friends (a black man from Northern part of Virginia named Troy) visited where I live. His master is a good friend of my master; therefore he made occasional visits and always brought Troy to the plantation where I serve myself. During his last visit, Troy told me about a rumor that was in a circulation. I heard that Lord Dunmore, the royal governor of Virginia, is determined to maintain British rule in the southern colonies; and he anticipates an upcoming armed conflict between revolutionary Americans and the British royalists. Yet these are not my main focus. I would like you to verify the validity of the words: Troy told me that Lord Dunmore and other governors in the southern colonies preparing to issue a proclamation that they would free black men who come to fight with the British royal army when an armed conflict breaks out. <span style="font-family: Tahoma,Geneva,sans-serif"><span style="font-family: Georgia,serif"><span style="font-size: 110%; font-family: 'Lucida Console',Monaco,monospace"> <span style="font-family: Tahoma,Geneva,sans-serif"><span style="font-family: Georgia,serif"><span style="font-size: 110%; font-family: 'Lucida Console',Monaco,monospace">Are these words true and worthy of believing in? I am desperate to hear you answer. <span style="font-family: Tahoma,Geneva,sans-serif"><span style="font-family: Georgia,serif"><span style="font-size: 110%; font-family: 'Lucida Console',Monaco,monospace"> <span style="font-family: Tahoma,Geneva,sans-serif"><span style="font-family: Georgia,serif"><span style="font-size: 110%; font-family: 'Lucida Console',Monaco,monospace">I have spent my entire life working in this plantation like a cow. I am sick of my master and his friends crying out for “liberties” and “freedom”. During their last lunch meeting, they had a conversation about //Common Sense// written by Thomas Paine. They praised Thomas Paine with a zealous enthusiasm and were eager to criticize the presence of the British crown. One of the reasons that my master used to condemn the existence of a royal family was that “people were originally all equal.” He also mentioned how people escaped from Europe to come to this continent for civil and religious freedom. I could not withstand their blindness. How can they talk about equality among all, and how can they argue for freedom when they are owners of plantations in which hundreds of black men perform forced labor all day long without receiving decent treatment? I am sick of these hypocrites who fail to acknowledge their own defects; they are too busy condemning the British crown, so that they have no room for their brain to really think about themselves and their roles as slave owners who have such a strong belief in the fact that “people are originally all equal.” <span style="font-family: Tahoma,Geneva,sans-serif"><span style="font-family: Georgia,serif"><span style="font-size: 110%; font-family: 'Lucida Console',Monaco,monospace"> <span style="font-family: Tahoma,Geneva,sans-serif"><span style="font-family: Georgia,serif"><span style="font-size: 110%; font-family: 'Lucida Console',Monaco,monospace">It’s been four months since I have sent a direct letter to Lord Dunmore; but I have received no response. I thought it may be too dangerous to send any more letters to politicians or governors of southern colonies, because there is a high chance of my master may hear about my letter sent to the governors. Therefore I decided to write to you, an honorable politician of Massachusetts to ask the questions and doubts. You should feel free to write me back with this address; you do not have to worry about my master reading your response. I am in charge of delivering messages and mails to my master’s room from every morning (this is when I get to read the daily news). <span style="font-family: Tahoma,Geneva,sans-serif"><span style="font-family: Georgia,serif"><span style="font-size: 110%; font-family: 'Lucida Console',Monaco,monospace"> <span style="font-family: Tahoma,Geneva,sans-serif"><span style="font-family: Georgia,serif"><span style="font-size: 110%; font-family: 'Lucida Console',Monaco,monospace">Sincerely, <span style="font-family: Tahoma,Geneva,sans-serif"><span style="font-size: 110%; font-family: 'Lucida Console',Monaco,monospace"><span style="font-family: Georgia,serif">Vincent Flor a

<span style="font-size: 180%; font-family: Tahoma,Geneva,sans-serif"><span style="font-size: 150%; color: rgb(255, 187, 0); font-family: 'Lucida Sans Unicode','Lucida Grande',sans-serif">Diary 5: Horrors of War 1777

<span style="font-size: 120%; font-family: 'Courier New',Courier,monospace"> Dear James Whapple,

It’s been almost two years since I have left the tobacco plantation; I still remember the moment when I heard the Lord Dunmore’s Proclamation. The Royal Governor of Virginia, John Murray, also known as the Lord Dunmore, promised freedom to all slaves who join him under arms against the American Revolutionary War. Yes, I was one of the first five hundred black men to immediately join the ranks of Lord Dunmore. I want to apologize for my moonlight flitting without telling anything about such decision to you. Please tell my brother, William, that I feel sorry for leaving him alone for the past two years. Yet, I cannot go back. I will rather die here as a soldier, as a man, as a free spirit; I will never go back to the plantation. I refuse to work like a cow all day long and call that greedy old white man as my master. I have abandoned the title of a slave and have worn new attire decorated and fully covered with a free soul. <span style="font-size: 120%; font-family: 'Courier New',Courier,monospace">People entitled our unit as the Lord Dunmore's Ethiopian Regiment. According to Richard Burmond (a white general who makes occasional visits to our unit to encourage us), we are the first official black regiment in the history of English-speaking North America. The unit was trained in a fairly short amount of time, since the very first conflict—the Battle of Kemp’s Landing—that we were engaged took place in November 14th, 1775, not long after the unit was organized. The revolutionary army was unprepared; therefore we were able to attack it to force its retreat. However, unfortunately, during the second battle (the Battle of Great Bridge,) the Patriot forces overwhelmed the Royal troops. During the retreat, our unit was forced to be loaded on a small British fleet. The cramped conditions and insufficient supply of food led to the spread of smallpox, killing five hundred among eight hundred men. By the time when we reached New York, only three hundred remained alive. Although the Ethiopian Regiment was disbanded in 1776, out great black leader, Titus Cornelius led the remaining troop to New Jersey.

Titus Cornelius is a young man; I think he is around my age. He is not very black and is about six feet tall. He is a big man, yet I am bigger. What makes him so great is not about his physical strength. He is a man who knows how to stand up in the front and command a crowd. Titus is the one who communicated with the Black Brigade (another African-American military unit in New Jersey) and helped us to join the crew. I recently read the Declaration of Independence written by the colonists a year ago. I could not bear the burst of anger. Greedy hypocrites advocate for their human rights, while many of their leaders are slave-holders. Last week, I read a line in a British magazine: “How is it we hear the loudest yelps for liberty among the [slave] drivers of the negroes?” (This is an actual quote by Samuel Johnson, an English writer.) Based on my real experiences with the English men in the royal army, the British do not necessarily consider the status of us, black men, as the same as theirs. However, I care about the fact that they are willing to free my soul.

Last night, Titus told me that we may have a major battle at Monmouth in next few months. We are reorganizing our unit, and I will write you again when everything is settled. <span style="font-size: 120%; font-family: 'Courier New',Courier,monospace">Sincerely, Vincent Flora. <span style="font-size: 120%; font-family: 'Courier New',Courier,monospace">

<span style="font-size: 180%; font-family: Tahoma,Geneva,sans-serif"><span style="font-size: 150%; color: rgb(255, 187, 0); font-family: 'Lucida Sans Unicode','Lucida Grande',sans-serif">Diary 6: It's All Over!

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