Abolitionist Literature Relocated: Humanity in Algiers

Reading Humanity in Algiers felt like déjà vu because so much of it reminded me of abolitionist texts I’ve read for history and English classes in the past, all of which were focused on slavery within the United States. One specific parallel I saw was between Valachus’s lust for Alzina and the lust so often depicted in literature that white slave owners had for their black female slaves. On his death bed, Valachus tells Omri:

I then commanded [Alzina] to be treated with the utmost kindness, and employed several agents to seduce her into compliance: But all my arts were in vain; she still remained unmoved, heedless of all my promises or threats. My passion being inflamed by this unexpected opposition, and despairing of ever obtaining her consent to my wishes, I was determined to make use of my authority over her person, and by force to compel her to submit. (22)

A similar scene takes place toward the end of Lydia Maria Child’s short story “The Quadroons” (1842):

For some months, [the master] sought to win her smiles by lavish presents, and delicate attentions. He bought glittering chains of gold, and costly bands of pearl. His victim scarcely glanced at them, and the slave laid them away, unheeded and forgotten…she gave her master no thanks, and her gloom deepened. At last his patience was exhausted. He grew weary of her obstinacy, as he was pleased to term it; and threats took the place of persuasion. (Child, The Liberty Bell, 140)

Both of these passages make use of similar rhetoric and portray masters who are ultimately willing to resort to violence against their female slaves to achieve what they desire. However, while Child’s portrayal of this relationship between master and slave was so typical to the texts I’ve always read, Humanity in Algiers brought a new spin to it for me with its African setting in which black slaves work for black masters. Without the dynamic of racial difference, I read the relationship between Valachus and Alzina as one purely based on gender dynamics, which helped me connect Humanity in Algiers back to Sansay’s Secret History. Just as Clara became a commodity desired by St. Louis, Rochambeau, and others, Alzina becomes a commodity who Valachus can quite literally purchase because of her status as a slave. The gendered power hierarchy is made more explicit in that he is her master, not her husband or suitor. Amid the many other issues that this text reveals about slavery, it also shows slavery putting males in an even greater place of power over females. In the relationship between Valachus and Alzina, I see a compelling argument against sex slavery and sexual violence that might be occurring anywhere in the world, regardless of racial differences. In this way, the text has global significance and resonates with the issue of sex trafficking that continues today.

Alzina also serves as an excellent example of the religious rhetoric used throughout Humanity in Algiers. Azem first encounters Alzina praying to God for deliverance from her fate. She exclaims, “Oh! Is it not enough that [Valachus] has embittered all my days with servitude, but that he would rob me of chastity, in which consists all my remains of happiness?” (15) Her ardent desire to remain chaste aligns with the valuing of female virtue which I’ve seen in countless American texts of this time period, largely due to the dominance of Christianity. At the end of her prayer, Alzina says, “O God! thou knowest my heart, and seest the anxiety of thy creature. O Thou, who alone givest aid and consolation to the captive! in thee I trust, in thy love and mercy” (15). Like many other characters throughout Humanity in Algiers, Alzina ultimately trusts in God to save her rather than actively trying to change her situation. Ultimately, everything works out because divine Providence intervenes on Alzina’s behalf—Valachus is stung by a scorpion on his way to rape her, and he sets her free. The different characters’ submission to God further reinforced my feelings of déjà vu, hearkening back to when I first read Mary Rowlandson’s captivity narrative. Yet, once again, this text brought in something new and different from other texts I’ve read—the Islamic faith.

I don’t know how accurately Humanity in Algiers portrays the religious tenets of Islam, but I was surprised to see it shown in such a positive light. The text doesn’t focus on many particularities of the Islamic faith, but it does show the ways in which it is similar to the Christian faith. Readers of this text during the 1800s could have found ways to sympathize with the characters through similarities, rather than focusing on their differences and vilifying the characters as “other.” The inclusion of Islam in its similarities to Christianity also combats American exceptionalism. The early Americans with their Christian faith cannot pretend they are so different or so much better than African Muslims after reading this text. Despite how similar Humanity in Algiers seemed to so many other abolitionist texts I’ve read, I appreciated how it gave me a new trans-hemispheric view on issues like sex slavery and religion.