William H. Halstead name as inscribed on the Colored Soldiers Monument in Washington, DC
William Henry Halstead Headstone ~ Sleepy Hollow
In December of 1863 my Great Great Grandfather, William Henry Halstead, who
lived in Tarrytown, New York, traveled to New Haven, Connecticut to join the
29th Connecticut Colored Infantry. On his Volunteer Enlistment papers it notes
his occupation as a farmer. He enlisted for three years and was discharged on the
24th day of October 1865. He married and had five children. William Henry
Halstead passed away in 1888 and was buried in Sleepy Hollow Cemetery in
Tarrytown, New York. His wife moved to New York City with her five children.
Her children grew up in Harlem and belonged to various organizations such as Odd
Fellows, Ladies of the Grand Army of the Republic and the Daughters of New
York.
Special honor & glory to the Black soldiers, including my Great, great Grandfather William Henry Halstead, 29th Colored Regiment, CT, who served in the Civil War even though at first Lincoln was reluctant to allow Blacks to enlist, to the Navajo code talkers whose messages helped win WWII, to the Black veterans of WWII & Korea who fought for Double Victory, overseas and at home; to our brave Japanese American troops who fought bravely during WWII while they families were herded into internment camps; to our Vietnam Vets who were spat upon and called names when they returned to the USA; to all Women soldiers and Veterans who often have to fight the enemy without and within (sexual abuse); to all Lesbian and Gay soldiers who until recently had to where a mask or risk being expelled from the military. Many of us served, fought, were disabled and died because we loved our country even when our country did not love us in return. I Salute you All!
“Oh, why have your people forced on me the name of Pauline Johnson? Was not my Indian name good enough? Do you think you help us by bidding us forget our blood? By teaching us to cast off all memory of our high ideals and our glorious past? I am an Indian. My pen and my life I devote to the memory of my own people. Forget that I was Pauline Johnson, but remember always that I was Tekahionwake, the Mohawk that humbly aspired to be the saga singer of her people, the bard of the noblest folk the world has ever seen, the sad historian of her own heroic race.”
Nobody knows my name or the real me except Jesus and him alone. Some ancestors unwillingly pulled from the breast of Mother Africa the others walked the “Trail of Tears”. Both had forced upon them the indoctrination of Euro-centric Christianity to the detriment of each noble culture.
A few months ago I traced my maternal ancestry back to Mozambique. When I made that discovery something in my spirit clicked and I knew that one day I had to return to the birthplace of my Great, great, great, great, great Grandmother, her birth name lost to time and eternity. Other ancestors born in this great land have yet to be revealed. Many times I wonder, “What was my African and/or Native American name.” The names of Finney, Halstead, Gordon, Palmer were all given by some distant slave-owner. Who were they and who were they 500 years ago?
Like Tekahionwake I live my dichotomy every day even in my spiritual life wondering about the respective faiths of my African and Native American ancestors. Thinking about how their own unique worship was torn asunder only to be replaced by a Euro-centric “Christian” god who relegated them to a lesser status, below that of their European captors.
Children of an accursed Ham? (Genesis 9:20–27) I think not for the descendents of the great Realm of Ethiopia have risen again to the rightful place in the Diaspora.
Matthew 12:42
New King James Version (NKJV)
42 The queen of the South will rise up in the judgment with this generation and condemn it, for she came from the ends of the earth to hear the wisdom of Solomon; and indeed a greater than Solomon is here.
The cries of my people would not be extinguished. The voices of my Native American ancestors called to me for redemption. Through an experiment called Carlisle Indian Industrial School History, really internment in re-culturalization concentration camps Richard Henry Pratt sought to erase the cultural identity of Kiowa, Cheyenne, Arapaho and other tribes through forcing children into complete immersion in Eurocentric culture and identity, effectively erasing their own. Take away a person’s language and belief systems, telling them that how God created them was wrong and had to be fixed only serves to create indwelling images of self-hatred within those lost children. If eradicating my indigenous and African American culture, traditions, ethnicity and exchanging them for dominant white culture will I be closer to God? Will Jesus accept me in this new form?
As I gaze in the mirror as many Native Americans did 150 years ago neither my face nor my features as God made them can be erased. The efforts on the part of European conquerors failed. Nor were the colonizers able to erase the connection to the Great Spirit as he was known long before the white man touched our shores.
White man you tell me that only your version of Jesus can save my soul and deliver me from sin. And just what is my sin? Being born with a brown face, high cheek bones, full lips, long flowing Jet Black hair or locs that rise to kiss the sun. Does my sin lie in the dances my people perform to honor my ancestors and Mother Earth who gives us all sustenance? Am I or my ways at fault because we revere Nature as opposed to destroying the land, fouling the waters, polluting the environment in a never ending obsession to conquer, convert and control? Now who is the savage? Who is the so-called heathen?
Oh European who comes bearing the sign of the cross who is this God of yours that lifts up your customs and traditions but disparages mine? He is not the Jesus depicted in your Old Master paintings from Italy, Spain, France or the Flemish Masters. No, more than likely he was a swarthy man with kinky dark woolly hair, skin darkened by constant exposure to the sun. Jesus was someone whose looks paralleled the populations most of the indigenous tribes of Africa, North and South America.
Revelation 1:14-15
New King James Version (NKJV)
14 His head and hair were white like wool, as white as snow, and His eyes like a flame of fire; 15 His feet were like fine brass, as if refined in a furnace, and His voice as the sound of many waters;
We Sisters and Brothers from what you named the “Third World” now know that Jesus came for us just as we are. God accepts us in all the richness with which he created us. We Black and Brown followers have redefined and returned Christianity to its original intent and meaning.
No longer do we walk the “Trail of Tears” or the Via Dolorosa. Now we stand together arm in arm marching onward to Zion that beautiful city of God taking our place among those who have been redeemed.
A friend of mine introduced me to Cathay Williams, the first African American Woman documented to have served in the Civil War. She was also a Buffalo Soldier. I hope to discuss this for a Black History Month program talk sometime in the future.
Bob Marley — Buffalo Soldier
Cathay Williams or William Cathay (Cathey)
Private, Thirty-eighth U.S. Infantry 1866-1868
Last year marked the 150th anniversary of the Civil War. Here is a very short story about one of my ancestors who fought bravely for freedom.
In December of 1863 my Great Great Grandfather, William Henry Halstead, who lived in Tarrytown, New York, traveled to New Haven, Connecticut to join the 29th Connecticut Colored Infantry. On his Volunteer Enlistment papers it notes his occupation as a farmer. He enlisted for three years and was discharged on the 24th day of October 1865. He married and had five children. William Henry Halstead passed away in 1888 and was buried in Sleepy Hollow Cemetery in Tarrytown, New York. His wife moved to New York City with her five children. Her children grew up in Harlem and belonged to various organizations such as Odd Fellows, Ladies of the Grand Army of the Republic and the Daughters of New York.
One of his descendents was my grandmother Eva Sophronia Gordon Palmer who was born in 1892.
Espiritu en Fuego/A Fiery Spirit 