Showing posts with label Civil Rights. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Civil Rights. Show all posts

Friday, April 5, 2024

Diary of Gideon Welles: Thursday, April 19, 1866

The President last evening addressed a large concourse who assembled under a call of soldiers and sailors who desired to serenade and thank him for a proclamation in their favor for government employment. His speech is bold and well enough if it was advisable that the Chief Magistrate should address such gatherings.

Senator Trumbull called upon me this morning for the first time in several months. It was to ask a favor, and for Mrs. Trumbull more than himself. I regretted that I could not without violating regulations grant it, for both of them have been a little miffed because I opposed his two great measures which have been vetoed. The speech of the President last evening was alluded to, and Trumbull was very emphatic in condemning Presidential speechmaking. We did not greatly differ on this subject, for it has never been regarded favorably by me. Sometimes it may be excusable, but omission is better than compliance with calls from irresponsible gatherings. Frequent harangues to promiscuous crowds lessen the dignity of the President.

Passing from this subject to the condition of the country, he asked me if I was willing, or would consent, that Senators and Representatives should be admitted to take part in the Government, coming from Rebel States and districts. I told him I was most assuredly willing, provided they were loyal and duly and properly elected. "Then," inquired he, "how could you deny one a seat in Congress from South Carolina during the existence of the Rebellion?" "That," said I, "is a different question, but I am by no means prepared to say I would not have been glad to have seen a true and loyal man like Andrew Johnson, or yourself, here from that State during the War. I regretted that more did not, like Johnson, remain in 1861. Would you have expelled them?" Without answering me direct, Trumbull became a good deal excited and was very emphatic against the Rebels. I said we would have no controversy on that point. I was not their apologist, though I was not their persecutor, now that the Rebellion was suppressed. They had greatly erred and wronged us, had slain our kindred and friends, wasted our treasure, etc., but he and I should not bear resentment. We had a country to care for and should, I thought, exert ourselves to promote reconciliation and reëstablish the Union in all its integrity at the earliest attainable moment.

"Without conditions?” inquired he. "The Constitution," replied I, "provides for all that is necessary to be done. The condition of affairs is anomalous, but the path is plain. Each State is entitled to the Senators and Representatives according to population. Why are eleven unrepresented and denied their rights by an arbitrary and despotic majority of Congress?"

He imputed the difficulty chiefly to the President, who, he declared, had failed to act up to the principles of his message; and he quoted a passage. I told him the course of the President I thought perfectly consistent and I knew it was honest. But why was Tennessee, for instance, more loyal than Kentucky, excluded from representation in either branch of Congress? He said the President was to blame for that, for had he not put his veto on the Freedmen's Bureau Bill, Tennessee, and he thought Arkansas and Louisiana also, would long before this have had their Representatives in Congress. I told him this did not appear to me very enlightened and correct statesmanship. Why those States should be denied their undoubted constitutional rights, because the President and Congress disagreed, I could not understand. He complained that the President was not frank, that he had advised civil rights in his message to all, and yet vetoed the very bill which confirmed those rights.

I remarked that the subject of civil rights—personal rights—belonged to the States, not to the Federal Government. The amendment to the Constitution had abolished slavery, and the blacks had the same remedies that the whites had to preserve their freedom. That undoubtedly some of the States would, at least for a time, make discriminating laws. Illinois, I presume, did, and I thought Connecticut also. He denied that Illinois made any distinction affecting the civil rights of the negro, and asked when and in what respects the civil rights were affected in Connecticut.

"Both States," said I, "deny them suffrage, which is claimed as a right by the extreme Radicals in Congress. He said there were not ten men in Congress who took that view; there were just eight, he finally remarked in the Senate, and perhaps double that number in the House. "But," said he, "suffrage is a privilege, not a right." I remarked I so considered it, but Sumner and others took a different view. "Well, then," said he, "in what other respects are the civil rights of the negro affected?" "He is not," said I, "by our laws put on terms of equality. He is not permitted to get into the jury box; he is not allowed to act as an appraiser of property under any circumstances, and there are other matters wherein distinctions are made." "These," replied he, "are all matters of privilege.”

What, then," said I, "do you mean by civil rights? Please to define it." "The right," replied he, "to his liberty, to go and come as he pleases, have the avails of his own labor, not to be restricted in that respect. Virginia," continued he, "has passed a law that they shall not leave the estate on which they reside without a permit." I know not that Virginia denies or restricts the right to emigrate. The other rights mentioned the negro possesses.

SOURCE: Gideon Welles, Diary of Gideon Welles, Secretary of the Navy Under Lincoln and Johnson, Vol. 2: April 1, 1864 — December 31, 1866, p. 487-90

Wednesday, August 27, 2014

Rose O’Neal Greenhow to William H. Seward, November 17, 1861

Washington, November 17, 1861.
398, 16th Street.
HON. WM. H. SEWARD, SEC. OF STATE.

Sir, — For nearly three months I have been confined a close prisoner, shut out from air and exercise, and denied all communion with family and friends.

“Patience is said to be a great virtue,” and I have practised it to my utmost capacity of endurance.

I am told, sir, that upon your ipse dixit the fate of citizens depends, and that the sign-manual of the ministers of Louis XIV. and XV. was not more potential in their day than that of the Secretary of State in 1861.

I therefore most respectfully submit that on Friday, August 23rd, without warrant or other show of authority, I was arrested by the detective police, and my house taken in charge by them: that all my private letters and papers of a life-time were read and examined by them: that every law of decency was violated in the search of my house and person, and by the surveillance over me.

We read in history that the poor Marie Antoinette had a paper torn from her bosom by lawless hands, and that even a change of linen had to be effected in sight of her brutal captors. It is my sad experience to record even more revolting outrages than that, for during the first days of my imprisonment, whatever necessity forced me to seek my chamber, a detective stood sentinel at the open door. And thus, for a period of seven days, I, with my little child, was placed absolutely at the mercy of men without character or responsibility; that during the first evening a portion of those men became brutally drunk, and boasted in my hearing of the nice times they expected to have with the female prisoners, and that rude violence was used towards a servant girl during that first evening. For any show of decorum afterwards practised towards me I was indebted to the detective called Captain Dennis.

In the careful analysis of my papers I deny the existence of a line that I had not a perfect right to have written or to have received. Freedom of speech and of opinion is the birthright of Americans, guaranteed to us by our charter of liberty — the Constitution of the United States. I have exercised my prerogative, and have openly avowed my sentiments. During the political struggle I opposed your Republican party with every instinct of self-preservation. I believed your success a virtual nullification of the Constitution, and that it would entail upon us all the direful consequences which have ensued. These sentiments have doubtless been found recorded among my papers, and I hold them as rather a proud record of my sagacity.

I must be permitted to quote from a letter of yours, in regard to “Russell of the London Times,” which you conclude with these admirable words: Individual errors of opinion may be tolerated, so long as good sense is left to combat them.

By way of illustrating theory and practice, here am I — a prisoner in sight of the executive mansion — in sight of the Capitol, where the proud statesmen of our land have sung their pagans to the blessings of our free institutions. Comment is idle. Freedom of speech, freedom of thought, every right pertaining to the citizen, has been suspended by what, I suppose, the President calls a “military necessity. A blow has been struck by this total disregard of all civil rights against the present system of government far greater in its effects than the severance of the Southern States. The people have been taught to contemn the supremacy of the law, to which all have hitherto bowed, and to look to the military power for protection against its decrees. A military spirit has been developed which will only be subordinate to a military dictatorship. Read history, and you will find that the causes which bring about a revolution rarely predominate at its close, and no people have ever returned to the point from which they started. Even should the Southern States be subdued, and forced back into the Union (which I regard as impossible, with a full knowledge of their resources), a different form of government will be found needful to meet the new developments of national character. There is no class of society, no branch of industry, which this change has not reached, and the dull plodding methodical habits of the past can never be resumed.

You have held me, sir, to a man's accountability, and I therefore claim the right to speak on subjects usually considered beyond a woman's ken, and which you may class as “errors of opinion. I offer no excuse for this long digression, as a three months’ imprisonment, without formula of law, gives me authority for occupying even the precious moments of a Secretary of State.

My object is to call your attention to the fact, that during this long imprisonment I am yet ignorant of the causes of my arrest; that my house has been seized and converted into a prison by the Government; that the valuable furniture it contained has been abused and destroyed; that during some period of my imprisonment I have suffered greatly for want of proper and sufficient food. Also, I have to complain that more recently a woman of bad character —  recognised as having been seen in the streets of Chicago as such, by several of the guard — calling herself Mrs. Onderdunk, was placed here in my house in a room adjoining mine.

In making this exposition, I have no object of appeal to your sympathies. If the justice of my complaint and a decent regard for the world’s opinion do not move you, I should but waste time to claim your attention on any other score.

I may, however, recall to your mind that but a little while since you were quite as much proscribed by public sentiment here, for the opinions and principles you held, as I am now for mine.

I could easily have escaped arrest, having had timely warning. I thought it possible that your statesmanship might prevent such a proclamation of weakness to the world as even the fragment of a once great Government turning its arms against the breasts of women and children. You have the power, sir, and may still further abuse it. You may prostrate the physical strength, by confinement in close rooms and insufficient food. You may subject me to harsher, ruder treatment than I have already received; but you cannot imprison the soul. Every cause worthy of success has had its martyrs. The words of the heroine Corday are applicable here: “C’est le crime qui fait la honte, et non pas l’échafaud. My sufferings will afford a significant lesson to the women of the South, that sex or condition is no bulwark against the surging billows of the “irrepressible conflict.

The “iron heel of power may keep down, but it cannot crush out, the spirit of resistance in a people armed for the defence of their rights; and I tell you now, sir, that you are standing over a crater whose smothered fires in a moment may burst forth.

It is your boast that thirty-three bristling fortifications surround Washington. The fortifications of Paris did not protect Louis Philippe when his hour had come.

In conclusion, I respectfully ask your attention to this my protest, and have the honour to be, &c,
&c, &c,

ROSE O'N. Geeenhow.

SOURCE: Rose O'Neal Greenhow, My Imprisonment and the First Year of Abolition rule at Washington, p. 118-24