As a hobby genealogist, I’ve spent years tracing my family history, uncovering stories of the people who came before me. My ancestors arrived in New York State in the mid-1600s, and for years, I had assumed that their legacy was relatively untainted by the stain of slavery. After all, New York was a Northern state, and the practice of slavery in the North seems so distant from the larger and very brutal history of Southern plantations.
But then I came across a shocking piece of history buried in the 1790 and 1800 U.S. census records. Johannes C. Masten, one of my direct ancestors, had owned slaves. In 1790, the census lists him with one slave. By 1800, that number had risen to two. It was a sobering discovery, one that I didn’t expect to find in my family’s history.
This revelation forced me to grapple with a difficult truth. The very idea that one of my ancestors, who helped settle Ulster County, New York, in the 1700s, could have owned other human beings, is a heavy burden. It is a moment of reckoning—a confrontation with the reality that my family's history, like so many others in this country, is tied to the complex and painful legacy of slavery.
Slavery, of course, was a deeply entrenched institution that spanned the entire United States, including New York. While New York state was among the first to pass laws gradually phasing out slavery, it did not erase the fact that many New Yorkers, like my ancestor, benefited from the forced labor of enslaved people. It also took 28 years before New York fully emancipated enslaved people in 1827.
But the story doesn’t end there. Another, more personal piece of my family’s history adds another layer to this reflection. My grandmother, born in 1881, was nursed as an infant by a Black woman in Circleville, New York. At the time, this would have been an unusual arrangement, especially given the racial dynamics of the era. My grandmother used to say that she was “strong because she had Black blood”. What did she mean by this, and how did this relationship, though shaped by the deep racial divides of the period, impact her life and identity?
Then, another discovery deepened this exploration of my family’s ties to race and the broader history of inequality. In 1880, my great-grandparents lived in Port Jervis, New York, and next door to them lived two sisters: Mary, aged 32, and Fannie, aged 29. Both were Black, and they had four mulatto children. My grandmother was born in Port Jervis just a year later. This connection, though we may not fully know the details, challenges any notions of distance between races in my family’s history. It’s a stark reminder that these divisions were not always as clear-cut as we might think, and that everyday lives were, and continue to be, shaped by systems of race, privilege, and inequality.
This personal connection is a reminder that the legacy of slavery is not just an abstract, distant history; it’s embedded in real relationships, even when they are shaped by societal constraints. My grandmother’s connection to the Black woman who nourished and cared for her as an infant and her proximity to the Black family next door brings together the stark realities of the past with the deeply human connections that also existed. Despite the prevailing racial divisions, these ties also reflect the resilience and humanity of those involved.
What does this discovery mean for me today? It’s not just a matter of learning about a distant ancestor’s past; it’s about confronting the broader historical truth of how our nation was built. The reality is that we live in a society shaped by this history, whether we are aware of it or not. Through the early 1900s, the Masten family owned large swaths of land in Sullivan, Orange, and Ulster Counties. That wealth, like that of many others, may have been built, in part, by enslaved labor.
But there is also a deeper, more personal question I am left to wrestle with: How do we reconcile with this history? What does it mean to confront the fact that our ancestors may have participated in abhorrent practices? In my case, it’s a reminder of how deeply interwoven the story of slavery is with the development of this country and the systems that continue to benefit some while disenfranchising others. It's a reminder that we must do all we can to help the downtrodden—those who struggle financially, physically, and emotionally. That the Bible quote, "whatsoever you do to the least of my people, you do unto me," is a call to justice for all humanity. That cruelty has no place in society, and compassion and empathy are imperative if we are to live a just life.
Perhaps, it’s easier to be disconnected from history, to think of it as something distant or irrelevant to our lives today. But the reality is, we are all products of this history. We are the inheritors of the decisions, actions, and systems that shaped the past, for better or for worse. As I reflect on my family’s history, I am forced to acknowledge that, just like the guests on Finding My Roots, I too am part of a larger narrative—one that includes both the progress we have made and the deep injustices we still carry.
In the end, this discovery is not just about me. It’s about all of us coming to terms with the way history has shaped our identities and our place in the world. It’s about asking ourselves: What will we do with this knowledge? How will we ensure that the struggles of those who came before us—who endured suffering and injustice—are not forgotten, and that we actively work to create a more equitable future?
This is the painful, necessary work of grappling with our history—one that can feel uncomfortable but ultimately leads to growth, understanding, and justice.
Note: OpenAI was used to help write this blog post.
Now, you may be wondering, when did slavery end in New York State? That’s not an easy question to answer. In 1799, New York gradually freed future generations who would otherwise have been born into slavery, but left enslaved thousands born before 1799. It was not until March 31, 1817 that the New York legislature ended two centuries of slavery within its borders, setting July 4, 1827 as the date of final emancipation and making New York the first state to pass a law for the total abolition of legal slavery. When Emancipation Day finally arrived, the number of enslaved men and women freed was roughly 4,600 or 11% of the black population living in New York and the black community and its supporters held joyous celebrations and parades throughout the state.
https://history.nycourts.gov/when-did-slavery-end-in-new-york/
Johannes C. Masten (b. 1735 Kingston, Ulster Co., NY; died 1815 Wurtsboro, Sullivan Co., NY)
- 1790 Census, Ulster Co.: 2 free males 16+, 1 free female, 1 slave (most of the residents had 1-6 slaves)
- 1800 census, Ulster Co.: 2 slaves
- 1805: Elected as an elder of the Dutch Reformed Church
Cornelius B. Masten
- 1790 census, Ulster Co.: no slaves
- 1800 census, Ulster Co.: no slaves
Abraham Masten
- 1790 census, Ulster Co.: 1 slave
Johannis B. Masten
- 1790 census, Ulster Co.: no slaves
- 1800 census, Ulster Co.: no slaves
Johannis Masten
- 1790 census, Ulster Co.: 1 slave
Cornelius C. Masten
- 1790 census, Ulster Co.: no slaves
It's not possible to know but given that it was common for slaves to take their master's names, we can identify several possible freed slaves:
- James Masten: b. 1779 NY, resident New Paltz, Ulster Co., 1850; 1840 census: freed colored males ages 36-54; freed colored females ages 36-54
- Margaret Masten: b. 1781, resident New Paltz, Ulster Co., 1850