Louisiana trumpet player Jeremy Thomas was 12
when he dug his first grave. While caring for his ancestors cemetery,
Jeremy's father taught him that a grave is more than just a grave.
It's a sign of memory and transition,
a reminder that there is no escape from death.
I've set out to explore the burial sites of black Louisiana
and what they reveal about a community's capacity for resistance.
I'm Tarriona “Tank” Ball, and this is a Ritual.
There are no older rituals than those devoted to caring for the dead,
nor are there any which reveal more about the living.
In Louisiana, Black people have been creating
and protecting traditions that honor the dead for centuries.
From the music of the black church to funeral processions,
rituals form an intricate mosaic of human expression and cosmic connection.
Enslaved communities secretly performed burials
that incorporated African traditions like drumming and dancing.
On plantations where gatherings of any kind were strictly outlawed,
getting caught would almost certainly subject them to the overseers whip.
To take such risk on behalf of their loved ones
became an act of resistance against the plantation.
For Jeremy, traditions like playing music
at funeral processions is a deep source of connection to his ancestral lineage.
He also spends countless hours digging through state archives
to piece together the lost and buried history of his enslaved ancestors.
Fueled by sacred duty to honor the dead, Jeremy and his family
carry the torch for a long line of black cemetery caretakers.
Together, they maintain and protect the cemetery's grounds
where their community is buried.
Today, he's invited me to the Lutheran Cemetery so I can see where it all began.
Welcome.
This is the Lutheran Cemetery.
We’re here in Baton Rouge,
Louisiana in the top of a community that we call the South.
And what is your family's history with this cemetery?
Yeah, my dad actually started, he took the role as caretaker.
Right.
But really, there's a long history with my family in the cemetery.
My great great grandmother, Hannah, she joined the Benevolent Society in 1935.
The main mission is to take care of the sick and bury the dead.
Yeah, I think that's pretty cool to know about.
This benevolent society, it actually started in 1858.
Benevolent societies were mutual aid organizations created to offer black Louisianians
the social safety net they were denied by segregation law.
With roots in West Africa,
where fraternal organizations were an important part of the community structure,
members of the society pooled their resources to care for all those in need.
Above all, belonging to a benevolent society meant that when the time came
they'd receive a proper burial, a guarantee for dignity in death.
What's the traces of Africa that can be found
in these traditions?
It's a very hard question.
I can imagine. Because so many things.
Have changed.
Yeah or we're just legally, right, removed the African traditions.
For example, Article 14 of the Code Noir said that if a slave dies
and that slave is not baptized, then you are to bury that slave at night
in a field somewhere near the spot where he died.
Laws like the French Code Noir controlled every aspect of life
for enslaved people, including what religion they could practice and
how they were buried.
In cases of serious slave resistance,
the Code Noir mandated gruesome punishments such as branding
with the fleur de lis, chopping off ears and the death penalty.
Despite the widespread and violent efforts of white supremacy,
some traces of African traditions prevailed.
To ensure the deceased were properly put to rest, enslaved
people would sing hymns, dance, drum and march.
You know how the music when they started parading to the burial ground?
That's an African tradition.
I don't say that feels African!
That feels African!
You know I could just hear it
and I can see it, you know, us bringing the body to its final resting place
and singing our way there. I feel that in my heart.
Everybody's dance and everybody's tambourine playing.
I'm sorry.
Have you have you been to New Orleans funeral before?
It sounds like you've been to New Orleans funeral.
Well, you know, we are further up the river.
I've definitely been to one though!
Ok I was gonna say, because that's what it's like, we truly celebrate the dead.
Traces of African burial traditions can be seen in New Orleans second lines,
which has roots in the centuries old Congo Square gatherings.
The rhythms, the dancing and the community solidarity
all expressions of African ancestral memory.
Generations later, people like Jeremy find new ways
to maintain their connection to their Louisiana ancestors.
I learned so much about my family by digging through these archives.
The archives have also taught me a lot about the history of the people
that owned and operated the state of Louisiana.
The history that we've lost, the things that we've forgotten.
But we come to America and we make our own traditions and we make something new.
And it's so cool to listen to the stories that your family has kept
and just have kept alive.
And we really appreciate you for that.
Your entire family are gems to this land.
Alright, you’ve got to meet the rest of the family.
Oh yeah who am I gonna meet?
Mama, you gonna meet Auntie, you gonna
meet cousin.
I wondered, after being denied burial rights for so long,
how can uncovering our history empower us today So I headed to meet Joy
Banner in her cafe located in the center of Plantation Country,
a site which bore witness to profound suffering.
Joy is a co-founder of the Descendants Project,
which is dedicated to justice for enslaved people and their descendants.
After all of their trauma within the community,
how important is it for community to bury the dead?
What's at stake here?
What does it mean when we when we bury somebody?
Well, that is the opportunity to come together
as a community, as a family, and send that person off in love.
You know, that sense of healing that they gave each other after that person passed.
It's important for us to remember that those moments, even though they were
heavily restricted
and heavily regulated
by enslaving families,
it was still a moment where people got together
and that act of resistance was to remember and love that person.
How do you see the next generations taking on this power?
Well, the very act
of taking care of the burial grounds is so important
because, again, it's respecting that space, it’s
making sure that it is it's a peaceful, you know, respite for,
you know, people to come and commune with their ancestors
and acknowledge and celebrate that person's life.
And also, it's a historical record. Right.
So if we don't have the headstone and then that's the issue that we have
now with a lot of these unmarked burial grounds, they're unmarked.
And so when someone takes care of a headstone,
they are ensuring that the next generation is going to know who was buried there.
And understand their value and understand the life of that person.
What makes it also
so important for community is to know that we aren’t disregarded.
We aren’t nothing.
It lets us know that we lived and that we mattered here.
Right. We mattered.
And if you think about for enslaved people,
their value was attached to their labor.
And so now that that person
isn't able to labor anymore,
put them in a ground anywhere. Right.
Or we can't we're not going to put you.
We’re not going to honor your life. We’re not going to honor your..
who cares, your valueless.
So the agency, the resistance, when they're saying,
no, we have value, you were important outside of your labor.
You know, that is what is so important about those rituals.
Then my favorite element of what our ancestors did
is to plant a tree as markers for enslaved people.
That tree is going to grow.
And so now, hundreds of years later, as a descendant,
when I can touch that leaf or that tree,
that's me holding hands with my ancestor.
Now I feel their spirit.
I feel how they come.
And, you know, they they thought about us.
Joy's commitment to her community made me think about my experiences
in the church growing up.
I had such a strong relationship
with the church, my family wanted me to continue the tradition of ministry.
I had other plans, of course.
Throughout Louisiana history, black churches have provided a sanctuary
for bodies and spirits, wearied by the struggle for survival
The music of the church elevated the congregation into an exalted space,
free of daily troubles.
My last stop was one of the oldest black churches in Louisiana.
Afton Villa Baptist originated from a congregation
that had worshiped together in the woods of Cloverhill Plantation.
Today, the resonant voice of Reverend Dr.
Lionel Davis continues to lead his congregation through hard times.
How do these hymns help people during their times of bereavement?
You think?
Well, it lifts their spirit.
It takes their mind off
the darkness of their lives
and place them in the sunshine of their lives,
letting them know behind every dark cloud
there is a silver lining.
Behind all of their storm there come a calm.
Just music alone does that?
Yeah. It's a universal language.
Yes, it is.
I would love to hear you sing one of your favorite songs.
Can we go over there? And you sing it?
I mean, I see we got a little we got some church members and yes.
Is that an organist over there?
Is that a drummer over there?
A drummer and musician.
[Band playing church hymn]
There are as many ways to pay tribute to lost loved ones as there are people.
When I am missing my grandmother, I make a point to visit her old house.
The memories are all there.
They give me strength during trying times.
The history of exploitation and white supremacy in Louisiana
placed a weight on the shoulders of its black residents so heavy
that their survival seems nothing short of a miracle.
But more than just surviving it, they were able to transform this pressure
into the diamond that is black Louisiana culture.
A magnificent celebration of the endless circle of life
and death.
[Band playing church hymn]