by Moïse KOEKPO
Is Africa condemned to forever bear the weight of the chains that were broken? Far from being a rhetorical question, this issue arises with unsettling urgency. From the shores of Gorée to the remnants of Ouidah, passing through the fortresses of Elmina, slave houses stand as funeral altars—temples where resilience is less celebrated than subjugation. But at what cost?
These buildings are not just witnesses to a brutal past. They are specters of a pain that is endlessly relived, places where the unspeakable is commemorated without ever being transcended. Are they not, in truth, the last prisons of the African soul?
Memory or a Spectacle of Suffering?
Their preservation is justified by the duty to remember, by the need to never forget. Yet, this memory, frozen in stone, sometimes resembles a macabre performance. These sites, where guides recount our ancestors’ suffering to crowds of visitors, have they not become theaters of misery, where suffering is displayed like a relic meant to evoke emotion more than education?
In the oppressive silence of these dungeons, Africa keeps looking back. But by staring into the darkness for too long, does it not forget to lift its eyes to the horizon?
Nazi concentration camps in Europe, often compared to these places of remembrance, have not been integrated into a tourism industry of pain. They are sites of contemplation, of reflection, where history is taught with gravity and solemnity. Why, then, do slave houses seem to be transformed into attractions where tragedy becomes almost tangible? Memory should enlighten, not imprison. It should elevate, not chain.
Africa as a Victim: An Imposed Identity?
The real danger of these sanctuaries of suffering does not lie solely in their physical presence. It is embedded in their symbolic power: they trap Africa in a narrative of eternal victimhood.
Africa’s history did not begin with chains or the Atlantic crossing. Yet, the dominant narrative constantly brings it back to this rupture, as if its only role in world history were that of the sacrificed victim. Africa has known powerful kingdoms, flourishing empires, philosophers, and scholars whose writings have stood the test of time. Why are these pages of history so often sidelined in collective memory?
By preserving these houses, we reinforce the idea that Africa is defined primarily by what it has suffered. But can we build a future by erecting monuments to our pain rather than to our greatness?
Slavery was abolished, but as long as we perpetuate the symbols of our oppression without transcending them, are we truly free?
Destroying These Houses: Erasure or Liberation?
Destroying these houses is not about denying history. On the contrary, it is about refusing to freeze it in a prison of stones and tears.
Why not replace these buildings of humiliation with temples of pride? Why not build, in their place, learning centers celebrating African civilizations rather than the crimes that sought to erase them? The abolition of slavery will never be complete as long as these walls continue to whisper submission and despair rather than rebirth and strength.
Frantz Fanon wrote: “Each generation must, in relative obscurity, discover its mission, fulfill it, or betray it.” Perhaps it is time for Africa to rediscover its mission—not as the guardian of a painful past but as the architect of an exalted future.
Africa, a Continent in Search of Its Own Memory
Should slave houses be preserved as bastions against forgetting, or should they be torn down to break once and for all with a poisoned legacy? This question divides historians, intellectuals, and activists.
But one thing is certain: memory must never become a prison. If these places serve only to sustain pain without offering a path toward a positive affirmation of African identity, then their purpose must be reexamined.
Africa must not be the continent that mourns its past. It must be the one that builds its future.
6 thoughts on ““Slave Houses: Memorials or Prisons for the African Soul?””
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The article raises a central question about the ways in which historical memory relates to African identity: should slave houses be preserved as places of remembrance or demolished to mark a definitive break with an unbearably humiliating past?
In Europe, this debate has been settled by choosing to transform concentration and extermination camps into places of memory, so that what has been will not be forgotten and cannot be repeated.
In Italy, in another context of violence and collective tragedies, the state and civil society have given new life to lands and buildings previously marked by mafia horrors. The choice has been to link the duty of memory with the right to redemption, not by demolishing assets confiscated from the mafia, but by restoring and redeveloping them.
This is the perspective suggested by the article, which urgently calls for moving beyond the memory of trauma in order to build a future based on dignity and progress. A vision that aligns with Fanon’s thinking, who advocated for the decolonization of not only territories but also minds.
The real issue, however, is another: is it right to turn slave houses into monuments to suffering, risking turning them into mere museums of pain, devoid of a path to redemption?
The article suggests that demolishing these houses could break a poisoned legacy. But history teaches us that physically removing a symbol does not mean erasing its meaning. In fact, the risk is that it might encourage oblivion instead of awareness.
Furthermore, history shows that authoritarian power has always sought oblivion, never the restoration of memory. Collective memory is fragile, constantly threatened by revisionism, denial, and political manipulation. It is at risk of being distorted, mutilated, or bent to ideological purposes, rather than preserved as a safeguard for truth.
For this reason, all testimonies, even the most atrocious, must be preserved. The article suffers from a radical vision that risks overlooking the fundamental role of memory: it should not be a paralyzing burden, but neither should it be erased to create a void that could be filled with a future built on selective amnesia.
Temples of pride can and must coexist with symbols of humiliation, so that future generations can know, in detail and vividly, the injustice that has been and keep alive the commitment to the justice that must be.
Slave houses, therefore, if reinterpreted, could become spaces of active and conscious memory, tools for education and critical reflection, rather than mere remnants of a painful and shameful past.
Actually, this is indeed a serious question!
With its rich history and cultural heritage of countless ethnic groups and tribes, Africa’s past is now, for some reason, almost exclusively viewed through the lens of slavery—even though slavery is just one chapter in the vast and great history of the continent!
There needs to be a new perspective on heritage: yes, the past cannot be erased, but its perception can be changed—Africa must no longer be seen solely as a victim of history.
I support honoring memory the right way! It is not enough just to remember the victims and the horrors endured by the peoples of the continent—there must also be space for African pride, culture, and achievements!
Thanks to the works of the ATB authors, I have discovered many incredible legends, tales, and stories of the African people. That is why I am certain that, with the right approach, Africa has a great future ahead—one no less magnificent than its past!
Hard to know what s the right answer
The work of memory must be integral, not selective; it must maintain a balance, avoiding distortions in both positive and negative directions. The vast cultural wealth of Africa must fully emerge as part of humanity’s heritage, bringing to light the complex and vibrant essence of the African soul—powerful, wise, invincible.
This does not mean ignoring the atrocities committed by Western colonialism against Africans. On the contrary, they must be remembered not to reopen wounds, but to keep awareness alive and to remain vigilant against the many forms, both blatant and subtle, in which racism continues to manifest itself.
Thanks for your comment, i guess you are rught, African heritage must be honored in the right way
Interesting article which raises a lot of questions. Shall we forget our history or is history always worth remembering? And shall we blame all of our current troubles on some distant, however painful, historical events? Is historical memory a blessing or a curse?