Set in 1738, Copper Sun follows Amari, a 15-year-old young woman from the West African Ewe tribe, as she’s captured, transported across the Atlantic to the Carolinas, and sold into slavery. The journey is horrifying: Amari goes from being a loved and respected member of her community to being treated like an animal. Her captors starve her, rape her, and dehumanize her in countless other ways along her journey. Although Amari wishes at many points that she could simply die and no longer have to suffer the indignity and the pain of being enslaved, the friends she makes along her journey all make the same point: that Amari must survive, and that to do so, she needs to hold onto and assert her humanity at every opportunity. With this, the novel proposes that the institution of slavery is so hard to topple because those in power so thoroughly dehumanize their victims—and victims can only resist by acknowledging the humanity and dignity of all people, especially themselves.
From the moment the neighboring Ashanti tribe and a group of white men capture Amari and other young people from her tribe, Amari is subject to nothing but horrific dehumanization. This, she comes to realize, is by design: the constant abuse is meant to gradually wear her down and break her spirit as she begins her life as a slave to Mr. Derby, a white plantation owner. Indeed, Amari often wants to die rather than suffer the abuse and indignities she suffers as a slave. This is especially true as she begins to learn English and can then understand what her captors and enslavers are saying about her and other African slaves. Amari and other young, beautiful women are referred to as “breeders”; Clay, Mr. Derby’s son, decides to name Amari “Myna” because she belongs to him (she’s his 16th birthday present); and Mr. Derby talks about purchasing and “breaking in” slaves for the rice fields as though they were livestock rather than human beings. But even as Amari wants to die, her friends insist that she must resist this dehumanization and remember who she is—forgetting this, and essentially giving in to what her enslavers want, is unacceptable.
Though Amari feels as though she and her fellow Black slaves are alone in their resistance to slavery, she ultimately discovers that this isn’t entirely true—there are white people who resist slavery, but they must do so in ways that allow them to still be accepted in white society, so their actions tend to be subtler or isolated occurrences. Mrs. Derby, for instance, treats the slaves her husband owns with respect and even provides medical attention to them when she can—actions that, for the most part, escape Mr. Derby’s notice, which therefore allows her to continue with these small acts of resistance. Dr. Hoskins, meanwhile, can resist only once, but he does so in a big way. When tasked with selling Amari, the white indentured servant Polly, and four-year-old slave Tidbit on behalf of Mr. Derby, Dr. Hoskins frees his charges. Unlike Mrs. Derby who can quietly, steadily resist slavery, Dr. Hoskins knows that it’s only a matter of time before Mr. Derby finds him out and spreads the word that he sympathizes with slaves—something that will destroy Dr. Hoskins’s reputation and his ability to continue caring for his white patients. Despite the danger that Dr. Hoskins and Mrs. Derby put themselves in, they feel that the personal sacrifice is well worth it if they can acknowledge the humanity of others and, in the case of Dr. Hoskins, hopefully give slaves the chance to find freedom.
On her journey south to Fort Mose in Florida Territory, Amari comes face to face with an unrecognizable version of her former fiancé, Besa. The sight of him shows Amari the true consequences of the dehumanization of slavery as Besa, who now goes by Buck, is a shell of his former self. Since arriving in the Carolinas at the same time as Amari, less than a year ago, Besa has had five owners and has tried to run away several times. Former owners cut off several of his fingers as punishment, his body is covered in scars from whippings, and it’s clear that Besa’s spirit is broken. Being told and treated like he’s nothing more than an animal has heartbreakingly resulted in Besa internalizing that lie and believing that it’s no longer worth trying to strive for a better life. And when Amari leaves him, she knows she is dooming him to a life that’s likely to be short, miserable, and hopeless. Though Amari didn’t need any more proof of slavery’s horrors, coming across Besa crystallizes in Amari’s mind why she and as many slaves as possible must hold onto hope and seek their freedom at every opportunity. The result of slavery is death, whether a slave dies in the rice fields from a snakebite or cholera, or on a farm due to being treated as subhuman and beaten when they show any sign of independent thought. While Amari ultimately finds freedom at Fort Mose, the reader must sit with the fact that a happy ending like Amari’s was far less common than Besa’s fate—and that slavery persisted in the American South for more than a century after Amari’s story ends. But ultimately, Copper Sun suggests that acknowledging and understanding the gross inhumanity of slavery and the immense toll it took on its victims is an essential first step to honoring the humanity and the lives of those victims and of their descendants.
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Slavery, Dehumanization, and Resistance ThemeTracker
Slavery, Dehumanization, and Resistance Quotes in Copper Sun
Besa said that a band of unusual-looking strangers are coming this way, Mother,” Amari informed her. “He seemed uneasy and went to tell the village elders.”
“We must welcome our guests, then, Amari. We would never judge people simply by how they looked—that would be uncivilized,” her mother told her. “Let us prepare for a celebration.”
“You know, certain people are chosen to survive. I don’t know why, but you are one of those who must remember the past and tell those yet unborn. You must live.”
“But why?”
“Because your mother would want you to. Because the sun continues to shine. I don’t know, but you must.”
“Perhaps it is better to die,” Amari told her sharply.
Afi sighed. “If you die, they win. We cannot let that happen.”
“They have already taken everyone I loved,” Amari replied, ashamed to look Afi in the face. “And tonight they take the only thing I have left that is truly mine. Death would be a relief.”
“You will live because you must,” Afi said sternly.
“Will you be wantin’ her mama, sir?” the auctioneer said to Mr. Derby. “I offer her to you first, out of respect, you see.”
Polly watched as Mr. Derby, who had walked up to the stage to claim his property, glanced at the older woman standing next to the slave girl, then said, “No, Horace, but thanks for the offer. Family ties only confuse the poor creatures. They’ll forget each other as soon as the sun sets. Trust me.”
Polly wondered if Negroes from Africa had feelings and intelligent thoughts or if that gibberish they spoke was more like the scream of monkeys or the barking of dogs.
The young Master Derby carried a small whip, and he used it liberally to make Noah work faster. Polly noticed that the slave breathed slowly and loudly, as if he was tense, but he made no attempt to stop the young man from hitting him. She was always amazed at how much abuse slaves took without it seeming to bother them.
“I am Polly, and I work for Mr. Derby just like you.” She hesitated, then added, “Well, not exactly just like you. You’re a slave, which means you belong to him.”
“Slave,” the girl said clearly. Her eyes narrowed and her lips drew back fiercely over her teeth as she said the word. She knows exactly what that word means, Polly thought.
“Well, pick my peas! A white woman as a maid and a beggar! Must not be no slaves from where she come from,” Teenie commented.
“Not all white people are rich landowners,” Polly said, almost coldly. “Most white folks I know scuffle for every scrap of food they get.”
“But they ain’t slaves,” Teenie reminded her quietly.
Amari took a deep breath and grabbed a yam from Teenie’s basket. “My mama,” she began, then tears filled her eyes and she gave up trying to explain. She closed her eyes and sniffed it. She could almost smell her mother’s boiled chicken and yams.
“You know, my mama came from Africa too,” Teenie told her. “She teached me what she knew ‘bout Africa food. Long as you remember, chile, it ain’t never gone.”
Teenie paused, then said, “For me, it was the overseer, Willie Badgett. Eventually, they gets tired of you and moves on—but the terribleness of it just goes to another slave woman.”
“And that’s just the first part. Then you gotta tend to the plants and flood the fields and cut the stacks and thresh the seeds—seem like it go on forever. That’s what be in your future, Miz Africa. And when he get old enough, this here boy’s future too.”
Polly looked at Cato in disbelief. “They’d put Tidbit out there?” she asked, horrified. The thought of little Tidbit sweating and working in the dangerous swampy water made Polly feel ill.
“Do you think Mrs. Derby knows what Clay is doing?”
“She know,” Amari said angrily.
“Maybe she can help you,” Polly offered tentatively. “She seems to be very pleasant.”
“She need help herself,” Amari replied sharply.
Polly tried to understand, but she couldn’t truly fathom the depths of Myna’s apparent distress. Slave women were always called to the bedrooms of their masters—it was simply a fact of life. Myna should understand that by now and be getting used to it.
“My beautiful baby,” she murmured over and over. Finally calmer, she looked up at Teenie and the girls. “I must explain,” she whispered, “before I die.”
“You ain’t gonna die, Miz Isabelle,” Teenie assured her. “You is fit and fine. Everybody feels a little poorly after havin’ a baby.”
Tenderly, Mrs. Derby touched the infant’s velvety brown face. “You don’t understand. My husband will kill me,” she said with certainty.
[...]
“He would never do such a thing!” But Teenie knew that Mr. Derby was probably quite capable of murder and would be within the limits of social acceptability to do so for this impropriety.
He took a deep breath, then said quietly, “I am ashamed to be a human being this morning. I witnessed not just murder last night, but violence and cruelty and vicious hatred. By saying nothing, I feel I am as responsible as my so-called friend who pulled the trigger.”
Amari and Polly exchanged stunned looks.
Dr. Hoskins continued. “I am just one man. I don’t know how to fight everything that is happening around me. I don’t understand how one man can own another. And I don’t know how to stop it.” He looked around at the deep woods and the darkness within them. “But I can help the three of you.”
“My name be Amari,” she informed the two of them.
Polly opened her eyes and looked at Amari with a slight frown. “What’s wrong with the name they gave you?” she asked. “We’re used to it now.”
Amari took a deep breath of the woodsy air. “Not Myna no more. Amari.” She spoke with clarity and certainty.
If you say so,” Polly said with a shrug. “I suppose it is a good name for a free woman.”
“Free!” Amari exclaimed in quiet exultation. She had no intention of ever using that slave name ever again.
“Of course, child. Everybody has slaves. How do you think we handle this land? But my Patrick is a good man and does not mistreat his property. Our slaves like it here.” Amari couldn’t understand how the woman could see no wrong in owning slaves as long as they were well treated.
“It’s like this: if my Patrick brings home a new slave like he did last week, for example, that’s his right as master and man of this house, and I dare not interfere. As a woman, I ain’t got muckle to say about those kind of decisions. But when I got the chance to decide for myself, I find it gives me pleasure to choose to help you be free. That’s the truth, and I did not know it until I spoke the words.”
“You know, I never really knew any black people before I came to Mr. Derby’s place. I mean, everybody had slaves, of course, but I never actually thought about them. And I certainly never had a black friend before,” she admitted.
Amari looked away. “Sometime I hate white people,” she admitted softly. “I never hate before I be a slave.” She stretched her arms. “I never even see white person until they attack my village. It be hard to have hate feeling and like feeling at same time.”
What shall I do? Amari thought helplessly. She willed herself to imagine her mother who would know what to say and how to comfort her. All of her mother’s dreams of growing old and watching her grandchildren play had been brutally dashed into the dust. This child carries the spirit of my mother, Amari realized suddenly, as well as the essence of her father, little Kwasi, the murdered people of her village, and the spirits of all her ancestors.
She inhaled sharply as she thought of Mrs. Derby, of the infant who had been given no chance to live, and of all the other women, both black and white, who continued to suffer as property of others.
