Growing up in the South, I have witnessed first hand the destructive nature of racism. Our dark history has been revised and romanticized to such a degree that we are in denial as to slavery’s indelible influence on our lives. Economic and judicial disparities are rampant. Physically, South Carolina remains very much segregated, with communities divided as distinctly as squares on a checker board. Socially, people cross the color line only at necessary, dictated intersections. Friendships rarely transcend past work hours.

The South Carolina statehouse and its grounds in Columbia are wrought with statues and memorials many could argue are tributes to slavery and the greatest architects and champions of white supremacy. Sadly, children visit and play in the shadows of these monuments every day and are taught to revere these important, proud men and their ideals that shaped their state.

Wade Hampton, Confederate General and governor of South Carolina, was the richest planter and largest slaveholder in the South. His bronze statue sits on the South side of the capitol. He founded “The Red Shirt Campaign” that later evolved into the Ku Klux Klan. It was designed to intimidate and subjugate blacks. Hampton espoused, “Treat them (blacks) so as to show them you are the superior race, and that their natural position is that of subordination to the white man.”

“Pitchfork” Ben Tillman as governor shaped the state's 1895 constitution into a bulwark of white supremacy. He sought to divide blacks and whites and whites of differing economic and geographical backgrounds. Almost single-handedly, Tillman established the iniquities of Jim Crow that countless other Southern demagogues would imitate. His statue flanks the North entrance to the statehouse.

The Confederate flag flew under the US and state flags atop the capital dome after being placed there in 1963 by white politicians wishing to send a message. They wanted the public to know who’s in charge in South Carolina, regardless of the civil rights movement. Amid national and world scrutiny, the flag was reluctantly removed from the dome in the summer of 2000, only to be placed in a venerated spot directly in front of the North entrance facing Main Street. It was on a photo shoot regarding the flag debate when I came across the monument honoring James Marion Sims.

A bronze bust of the South Carolinian from Lancaster County curiously dubbed "The Father of Gynecology" sits on a pedestal in front of a cement archway. Directly beneath his image is a quote from Hippocrates, "Where the love of man is, there is also the love of art." Etched in a panel to the left, the inscription reads, "The first surgeon of the ages in ministry to women, treating alike empress and slave." On the panel to the right, it continues, "He founded the science of gynecology, was honored in all lands and died with the benediction of mankind."

It was the “treating alike empress and slave” that seemed a bit difficult to believe. I wanted to know more. Like many good investigations, I started with a Google search. Historians from South Carolina proudly proclaim that Sims innovated techniques and developed instruments that changed the landscape of women's reproductive health. Pages into the search, I found an academic paper with reference to Sims titled, “Human Experimentation, before and after the Nazi Era.”

It seems Sims only practiced medicine in South Carolina for a few months. His first two patients, infants of prominent citizens of Lancaster, died as a result of his ineptness. He quickly left the state and continued to pursue medicine as a plantation doctor, conducting experiments on enslaved Africans at will. Between 1845 and 1849, in a makeshift hospital he built in the backyard of his Alabama home, Sims inaugurated a long, drawn-out series of excruciating, experimental gynecological operations on countless enslaved African women.

This was all done without the benefit of anesthesia or before any type of antiseptic was used. Sims subscribed to a commonly held belief that Africans had a specific physiological tolerance for pain, unknown by whites. Sims’ professional success and standing as medical innovator resulted from experiments on women with no choice in the matter and no say over their bodies. It is their story that history has failed to tell and their story that deserves to be heard.

The story of James Marion Sims and his dubious rise to prominence holds many insights into the mentality of human slavery and the willingness of the public to honor and memorialize those who supported its premise. I’m compelled to tell of the suffering and sacrifice these enslaved African women experienced at Sims’ hands. My search continues for funding to make the documentary this subject matter deserves. It is only through an honest search for truth in history that holds the promise of enlightenment.

Please view my sample documentary assembled for the purpose of applying for the Paul Robeson Fund. We didn't get the grant, but with each rejection letter, a cup of gas on the fire.

© 2007 Wendy Brinker