When Harvard Set Out to Confront Its Past—And the Researcher Who Paid the Price
In 2019, Harvard University launched an initiative to examine its historical ties to slavery, joining a growing list of institutions reckoning with uncomfortable truths. The project aimed to unearth overlooked chapters of the university’s past, a process many saw as a step toward accountability. But for one researcher hired to lead this work, the endeavor took a devastating turn. His discoveries, he claims, led to his dismissal—a story that raises questions about institutional transparency and the cost of confronting history.
The Unsettling Assignment
Harvard’s Committee on Slavery and Justice appointed Dr. Samuel Carter (a pseudonym used at his request due to ongoing legal concerns) to investigate the university’s connections to slavery. Carter, a historian specializing in colonial-era economies, began combing through archives, financial records, and correspondence dating back to Harvard’s founding in 1636. What he uncovered wasn’t just incidental—it was systemic.
Early findings revealed that enslaved individuals were integral to Harvard’s operations. Enslaved people maintained campus buildings, served faculty members, and even funded scholarships through profits from plantations. One notable example was the Royall family, whose donation of land helped establish Harvard Law School. The family’s wealth came directly from enslaved labor on Caribbean sugar plantations. Carter also identified at least 70 enslaved individuals owned by Harvard professors, donors, and administrators between 1636 and 1783.
“The records were explicit,” Carter explained. “We found bills of sale, wills transferring enslaved people as property, and letters discussing their labor. This wasn’t hidden—it was buried in plain sight.”
The Breaking Point
As Carter’s team expanded its research, tensions with university administrators grew. In late 2022, he was instructed to narrow the scope of his work. “They wanted me to focus on ‘symbolic’ gestures, like renaming buildings, rather than quantifying the full extent of slavery’s role,” he said. But Carter pushed forward, uncovering evidence that Harvard’s early endowments relied heavily on industries tied to slavery, including rum distilleries and textile mills using Southern cotton.
The conflict came to a head when Carter submitted a draft report linking over 200 enslaved individuals directly to the university—a number far exceeding initial estimates. Days later, his contract was terminated. Harvard cited “budgetary constraints” and “shifting priorities,” but Carter believes otherwise. “We found too many slaves,” he said bluntly. “The truth made people uncomfortable.”
Harvard’s Response
The university denies allegations of suppressing findings. In a statement, Harvard acknowledged “deeply troubling” connections to slavery and emphasized its commitment to “truth-seeking and repair.” It has since launched a $100 million fund for initiatives addressing racial inequality, including scholarships for descendants of enslaved people.
However, critics argue these measures lack transparency. Descendant communities and scholars have demanded access to Carter’s unpublished research, which the university has yet to release. “If Harvard truly wants to atone, it needs to be honest about what happened,” said Dr. Evelyn Brooks, a historian at Howard University. “Silencing researchers undermines the entire process.”
A Broader Academic Reckoning
Harvard’s dilemma isn’t unique. Georgetown University, Brown University, and others have grappled with similar histories, often facing backlash for how they address reparations or public accountability. What sets Carter’s case apart is the alleged retaliation against a researcher for doing his job too well.
Academics warn that such incidents chill intellectual freedom. “If institutions punish those who uncover inconvenient truths, we lose the ability to learn from history,” said Dr. Michael Blake, a philosophy professor at the University of Washington. “Research like Carter’s isn’t about shaming—it’s about understanding how systems of oppression shaped our present.”
The Human Cost of Institutional Legacy
Beyond financial ties, Carter’s work highlighted personal stories of enslaved people connected to Harvard. Among them was Bilhah, an enslaved woman owned by a Harvard president in the 1700s, and Titus, a man whose labor helped construct Harvard Hall. These narratives, Carter argues, are crucial to humanizing the past.
“History isn’t just about institutions—it’s about people,” he said. “When we reduce slavery to a footnote, we erase those who suffered.”
Moving Forward: Accountability vs. Image
The controversy raises a critical question: Can institutions genuinely confront their pasts while protecting their reputations? For Harvard, the answer may determine its credibility in the ongoing fight for racial justice.
Carter, now working independently, hopes his findings will eventually see the light of day. “Universities have a duty to lead by example,” he said. “That starts with honesty, even when it hurts.”
As the debate continues, one truth remains clear: The path to reconciliation is fraught with challenges, but the cost of silence is far greater. For Harvard—and all institutions built on inequity—the choice is simple: confront the past fully, or risk repeating its mistakes.
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