The Nottoway Plantation, a monument to Southern grandeur built on the backs of enslaved Black people, has been destroyed by a fire that raged for nearly 40 hours beginning late May 15.
Built in 1859 by sugar magnate John Hampden Randolph, the estate was powered by the forced labor of more than 150 enslaved people,
“Generations of human beings were held captive, tortured, raped, mutilated, and worked to death in plantations. Let the sadistic ghouls who wanna hold their weddings and parties at Nottoway find another concentration camp for their happy occasion.”
Celebrate the burning, Y’all.Let the flames take it all. Because you can’t make a romance out of horrors and expect the ghosts to stay quiet forever.Praise the blaze like a cleansing storm.Let every ember sing a requiem for the enslaved who were raped, whipped, mutilated, bred like livestock, sold off like furniture, and murdered. Let the flames devour the lie of “southern charm.”What kind of mind turns death camps, torture sites, open-air rape chambers, and generational trauma incubators into wedding venues and luxury resorts? “Let’s get married where people were dismembered!” What kind of spiritual rot does it take to look at a plantation and see ambience instead of atrocity?What kind of people can sleep peacefully in rooms where enslaved women were raped and call it “bed and breakfast?” How can they twirl on the floors, sip champagne, pose for pics with their bouquets in front of slave quarters and call it “vintage?”It is sadistic cosplay. It’s parasitic necrophilic nostalgia dressed up as rustic elegance. It is a spiritual sickness.They don’t look at Auschwitz and think, “What a perfect place for a brunch buffet and some mood lighting for our bridal photos.” But plantations? They will put on pastels, clutch their pearls, and fantasize about a Gone-With-the-Wind fantasy.Call it what it is—fetish. It’s the eroticization of dominance. A pathological comfort with Black pain and pleasure in proximity to past power. They want to own the ruins, dance on the graves, and call it joy and love.Let It burn. Let them all burn. Let the flames lick the walls and crawl up every grand staircase and swallow every chandelier bought with blood.Burn it all. For revenge, for release, and for truth. For the ancestors screaming from the floorboards and never got justice. And the people sobbing over the charred remains and ashes choke on their salty tears and delusions.-stacey patton
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