Valongo Wharf and Gadsden’s Wharf: A Comparative Approach to Two Sites of Memory of Atlantic Slavery (Rio de Janeiro, Brazil, and Charleston, South Carolina)

Abstract

The article presents a comparative analysis between Valongo Wharf in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil, and Gadsden’s Wharf in Charleston, South Carolina, as sites of memory of the Atlantic slave trade. It examines how these sites, both integrated into the UNESCO “Routes of Enslaved Peoples” project, confront the legacy of slavery and its contemporary implications. The study investigates the prevailing narratives in these spaces, the privileged and silenced memories, and the connection established between past atrocities and present racism. From a comparative historical perspective, the article discusses the social construction of these sites of memory, considering the influences of different social actors, such as Black movements, scholars, and public authorities. The analysis reveals how Valongo and Gadsden’s Wharves have become spaces of dispute for recognition and ambiguities over the memory of slavery and its legacies.

1. Introduction

This article presents a comparative analysis of how history is constructed at two sites of memory of Atlantic slavery: Valongo Wharf in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil, and Gadsden’s Wharf in Charleston, South Carolina. The analysis is part of a doctoral research project conducted within the Comparative History program at the Federal University of Rio de Janeiro. It aims to identify the disputes, accommodations, and silences involved in the retrospective interpretation of slavery at these two sites of memory. To this end, I draw on archival documents related to each location’s memorialization process, records of official events, and an in-person analysis of the exhibition content at both sites.

The emphasis on the historicity of sites of memory is important. The concept, developed by Pierre Nora, primarily referred to the symbolic, material, and functional elements that reinforced the French national identity. The subsequent popularization of the term beyond academia, according to Nora himself, contributed to the predominance of sites “saturated with commemorations” (Nora 1984, p. 977), at the expense of “non-places” and “bad places” of national memory (Hartog 1997, p. 25).

From the late 1980s onward, processes of democratization in Latin America, the end of the Cold War, and the strengthening of human rights movements (Huyssen 2014, p. 195; ICSC 2018, p. 14) facilitated the visibility of counter-hegemonic narratives and sites connected to political claims for recognition and reparations. This context encompassed not only traumatic sites related to Latin American dictatorships and ethnic wars in Eastern Europe but also projects aimed at memorializing slavery in the Americas, Europe, and Africa (Araujo 2024). Many of these initiatives received official support from institutions and governments and gained greater prominence beginning in 1994 with the launch of UNESCO’s Slave Route Project (now known as “Routes of Enslaved Peoples”) (Araujo 2010, pp. 189–90).

To understand the tension between sites of memory as spaces of national consecration versus spaces of conscience that prompt reflection on a painful or contested past, the comparison between Valongo and Gadsden’s Wharf is particularly instructive. During the era of slavery, Atlantic port cities such as Accra, Ouidah, Nantes, Liverpool, Havana, Cartagena, New Orleans, and Salvador played a critical role in the transatlantic slave trade. These cities facilitated and profited from the movement of capital, goods, and enslaved people. The influx of enslaved Africans transformed these ports into creole spaces, deeply marked by the African diaspora. Like Rio de Janeiro for Brazil, Charleston served as the major port of entry for enslaved Africans in the United States. According to the Slave Voyages database, at least 147,148 enslaved Africans were brought to Charleston between 1710 and 1808. Rio de Janeiro, by comparison, received nearly ten times this number—at least 1,220,936 enslaved Africans from 1597 to 1851, with 71 percent arriving between 1791 and 1831.

In Charleston, Gadsden’s Wharf operated between 1806 and 1807, during the brief period when the slave trade was reopened after its suspension in 1792 following the Haitian Revolution (Butler 2018). Despite this brief window, traffickers, anticipating the impending ban, brought 75,000 Africans to Charleston aboard 400 slave ships. The city subsequently remained a hub for the domestic slave trade until the outbreak of the Civil War. In Rio de Janeiro, the disembarkation of enslaved Africans at Valongo Wharf started in 1774 under the orders of the Marquis of Lavradio. To facilitate this process, a stone pier was constructed in 1811, along with facilities such as a lazaretto and a burial ground designated for the “pretos novos”—recently enslaved Africans who perished upon arrival. The wharf remained operational until the formal abolition of the slave trade in 1831, although illegal landings continued at other beaches outside the city until at least 1852 (Florentino 2014; Soares 2013; Honorato 2019; Nara 2024).

By the first half of the 19th century, both Rio de Janeiro and Charleston had significant Black populations, with a large percentage of those residents enslaved. In 1830, Charleston’s population was 57% Black, with 15,294 enslaved people and 2107 free individuals (Powers 1994). That same year, historian Mary Karasch estimated that Rio de Janeiro had 56,000 enslaved people (Karasch 2000). By 1849, despite the official end of the transatlantic slave trade, enslaved and free Black people still comprised 43.5% of Rio de Janeiro’s population, underscoring the enduring legacy of slavery in the city.

2. Comparative Bases of the Present

Beyond their shared historical past, the Atlantic slave ports of Valongo and Gadsden’s Wharf are further connected by their designation as sites of memory by UNESCO’s Routes of Enslaved Peoples project (formerly the Slave Route project). Launched in 1994, this initiative promotes research, conferences, cultural events, educational materials, documentaries, and the preservation of archives related to the slave trade. The project has fostered networks of scientific institutions, developed a website, and established international remembrance days. Furthermore, it has compiled inventories of sites associated with the slave trade, promoted memory tourism, and supported the creation of museums. However, as a 2004 assessment revealed, the project lacks consistent international funding and local engagement, hindering its ability to fully achieve its ambitious goals (Forss et al. 2005; Araujo 2010).

The archeological remains of Valongo Wharf (Figure 1) were uncovered during the Porto Maravilha (“Marvelous Port”) urban redevelopment project. Launched during Mayor Eduardo Paes’ first term (2009–2012), the project was conceived within the context of major events planned for the city, namely the 2014 World Cup and the 2016 Olympic Games. It received significant political and economic support from both state and federal governments, drawing inspiration from similar interventions in port cities like Barcelona and Buenos Aires. These projects often focused on gentrification-driven revitalization, leveraging mega-events and cultural attractions to create value through urban restructuring. This approach has become a common justification for reshaping host cities, boosting mass tourism, and attracting real estate investment: all of which frequently prioritize the monetization of culture and heritage over their value for local residents (Gonçalves and Costa 2020; Pio 2017; Guimarães and Castro 2023).

The public announcement of the discovery in March 2010 triggered the process of converting Valongo into a site of memory—a site where the physical remnants of the wharf became a tangible link to the past, reinterpreted through the lens of contemporary issues. This process was guided by what Pollak called “memory framing work”, aimed at both satisfying the need for public justification of the evoked memory and solidifying feelings of belonging and social boundaries among different groups (Pollak 1993). One of the first administrative acts of this process was the issuance of a local executive order in November 2011 (PMRJ 2011), establishing a working group and a delimited perimeter in the port area, which became known as the “Historical and Archeological Circuit of African Heritage” (Figure 2).

As illustrated in Figure 2, while the delimited area surrounding the Valongo Wharf encompassed other significant sites related to slavery and its aftermath, it notably excluded the waterfront area, which was earmarked for real estate development. This prioritization of economic interests over the preservation of the port’s cultural landscape is further exemplified by the exclusion of Providência favela from the project’s perimeter, despite its historical significance with landmarks dating back to the nineteenth century.

In contrast to this selective approach to memorialization, the working group—comprising archeologists, historians, Afro-Brazilian religious authorities, and Black activists—released in 2012 a set of recommendations addressed to public authorities regarding the preservation and protection of the Valongo Wharf. The published document emphasizes that “all Brazilians are part of the history of slavery: a history from which one cannot escape, nor should one forget. Recovering this memory and breaking the cycle of social amnesia are essential steps toward addressing and reducing the inequalities inherited from the slave system” (PMRJ 2012).

In 2015, the Brazilian government officially submitted the nomination of the site for World Heritage status. In the nomination text sent to UNESCO, Brazilian representatives framed Valongo as a “sensitive heritage site”, drawing parallels with Robben Island and Auschwitz. They emphasized that “the tragedy of the enslavement of millions of Africans is symbolized in the remains of Valongo Wharf in much the same way that the buildings of Auschwitz symbolize the horror of the extermination of Jews by the Nazi regime” (IPHAN 2016).1 This approach proved successful, and in July 2017, the World Heritage Committee (WHC) inscribed Valongo Wharf on the World Heritage List (UNESCO 2017). The WHC recognized its unique and exceptional value, both materially and for its profound spiritual connections to the African diaspora. The Committee explicitly referred to slavery and the slave trade as a “crime against humanity”.2

In Charleston, the initiative to establish an African American Museum began in 2000, when former Mayor Joseph P. Riley introduced the idea in his State of the City address. A steering committee was formed in 2002 to explore the feasibility and scope of the museum project (IAAM 2023). Archeological work conducted on Gadsden’s Wharf in 2014 and 2019 uncovered evidence of the original wharf line, a 1795 storehouse, and a few artifacts (IAAM 2019). One hundred twenty-five million dollars were raised from the City of Charleston, Charleston County; the State of South Carolina; and private donors to fund the museum’s construction and collection. Twenty-three years after the initial proposal, the International African American Museum (IAAM) was inaugurated “on the historically sacred site of Gadsden’s Wharf” (Figure 3).

The press release issued at the museum’s inauguration highlights its curatorial proposal to explore “the history, culture, and impact of the African American journey on Charleston, on the nation, and on the world” (IAAM 2023). The museum presents itself as “one of the nation’s newest platforms for the disruption of institutionalized racism as it evolves today”.

As part of fieldwork involving 23 sites of memory in the southern United States, I visited the IAAM on two occasions, in October 2023 and May 2024. The museum is located less than 0.6 miles from the historic downtown area, adjacent to the Charleston Maritime Center and surrounded by luxury condominiums. Currently, 70% of the city’s population is white; the Black population predominantly lives in the neighboring municipality of North Charleston. A 2017 report, titled The State of Racial Disparities in Charleston County, underscores that the ongoing gentrification process has forced many Black residents out of the city, with some neighborhoods experiencing a nearly 50% decline in their African American population (Avery Research Center 2017).

The museum’s open-air memorial garden is flanked by two distinct sets of sculptures. The more striking of the two features five statues of enslaved individuals crouching in despair (Figure 4). These sculptures refer to a tragic historical event, documented by traveler John Lambert during his 1807 visit to Charleston. As the slave trade neared its end, traders prolonged the captivity of enslaved Africans in ships and warehouses at Gadsden’s Wharf, hoping to inflate prices by artificially restricting supply. This cruel practice resulted in the deaths of over 700 individuals in less than three months. Adjacent to the sculptures, interpretive panels offer detailed information about the historical significance of Gadsden’s Wharf and its inclusion in UNESCO’s Routes of Enslaved Peoples Project.

The IAAM media kit details the museum’s nine galleries—Transatlantic Experience, Atlantic Worlds, South Carolina Connections, Gullah Geechee, American Journeys, Carolina Gold, African Roots, African Passages, and Special Exhibitions—that aim to demonstrate “how enslaved Africans and free blacks shaped economic, political, and cultural development throughout the nation and beyond, while offering an especially close look at the connection to the South Carolina Lowcountry” (IAAM 2023).

The exhibition offers a comprehensive overview of the transatlantic slave trade. It highlights the Middle Passage and the historical and contemporary connections between African and African diasporic peoples. The rise of plantation slavery in the 17th and 18th centuries is presented as a key driver for European colonial economies, with enslaved Africans producing commodities such as sugar, tobacco, and cotton that fueled international markets. The exhibition also delves into the lives of enslaved people in urban environments like Charleston, showcasing their diverse skills and trades, and their resilience in forming close-knit communities despite the oppressive conditions (Figure 5 and Figure 6). The museum places special focus on the Gullah Geechee community, dedicating an entire gallery to narrating their history and culture (Figure 7). It also fosters social activities with members of that community, further strengthening the connection between memory, identity, and contemporary social practices.

The critical reception of the IAAM has been widely positive since its inauguration. New York Times critic Holland Cotter, for instance, highlighted that it is the first major museum of African American history to bring the entire Afro-Atlantic world into focus, describing it as “a monument to survival and resistance” (Cotter 2023). Edward Ball, whose book Slaves in the Family inspired the creation of the museum, argued that the opening of the IAAM marks a fundamental step in rewriting the history of the United States. He also emphasized the museum’s critical relevance today, particularly in light of recent state laws censoring the teaching of history about race and slavery (Ball 2023). Professor Najmah Thomas, from the University of South Carolina Beaufort, contends that the IAAM provides invaluable resources for educators and the general public, fostering a deeper understanding of African American history and culture while moving beyond simplistic narratives of reconciliation (Thomas 2024).

A dissenting voice is that of historian and civil rights activist Millicent Brown. Brown co-founded Citizens Want Excellence at the IAAM, a group advocating for greater community input and economic benefits for Black Charlestonians. Brown contends that focusing primarily on Black contributions to American society may perpetuate the need for Black individuals to constantly demonstrate their value, rather than addressing systemic inequalities. Brown argues that the museum should actively contribute to the economic well-being of the local Black community, noting the lack of Black-owned businesses near the museum and questioning whether its economic benefits will address persistent racial disparities in health, income, and opportunity (Brown 2024).

Although Brown’s concerns are valid, it is important to acknowledge that the museum’s exhibits do not solely focus on a “contributionist” approach to Black history, nor do they neglect the systemic roots of racial discrimination and injustice. The museum also addresses critical issues such as structural racism, mass incarceration, police violence, Black feminism, and post-colonial Africa, showcasing stories of resistance and resilience within Black communities (Figure 8 and Figure 9). Furthermore, the museum embraces an Afro-diasporic and Pan-Africanist perspective. It connects African American experiences with those of other African and Afro-diasporic communities, fostering a broader understanding of Black history and identity. For example, the museum includes references to Brazilian politician Marielle Franco and to the Unified Black Movement (“Movimento Negro Unificado”) in Brazil, as well as Afro-Brazilian and Afro-Latin religious traditions. This transnational perspective challenges traditional nationalist narratives often found in historical museums, offering a more inclusive and nuanced understanding of the Black experience.

The opening of an African American museum in Charleston—once known as the “cradle of the Confederacy” and marketed as the “most historic of American cities”—is part of an ongoing political effort to reshape the city’s memory landscape. As Yuhl notes, in the 1920s, with the rise in the automobile industry and the construction of new roads, Charleston’s white cultural elite started to explore the tourism potential of its well-preserved historic center. This group envisioned the city as the last resort of genteel white aristocrats, with African Americans in a subordinate role, amidst a nation rapidly modernizing and industrializing (Yuhl 2005). Memory tourism in the southern United States was greatly expanded by the publication of Margaret Mitchell’s novel Gone with the Wind in 1936, followed by the film released in 1939 (Kytle and Roberts 2018; Yuhl 2005). Although the narrative is set in Georgia, the bucolic plantations of the South Carolina Lowcountry, with their stately mansions and landscapes of ancient oaks draped in Spanish moss, became a favored destination of the 7.5 million tourists who visit Charleston each year (Levin 2023).

Despite its prevalence in the early 21st century, this white-washed version of history has faced growing criticism and has been challenged by narratives that center the experiences of African Americans and actively confront the past of slavery. This shift became particularly noticeable in the United States starting in the 1990s, fueled by growing scholarly interest in African American history and a more diverse and informed generation of museum professionals (Horton and Horton 2009, p. 171). As Araujo notes, the election of Barack Obama in 2008 spurred a wave of initiatives focused on recognizing, preserving, and reinterpreting African American historical sites and narratives (Araujo 2014, p. 6). These initiatives, while initially focused on commemorating the Civil Rights era, gradually expanded to encompass sites and narratives that actively engage with the complex legacy of slavery (Potter et al. 2022; Small 2018; Smith 2021).

Kytle and Roberts (2018) documented a significant shift in how Charleston’s tourism industry addresses slavery and Black history. While narratives about Black history and culture were rare in 2005, they observed a marked increase in tours addressing slavery and Black experiences. By 2015, tour guides were increasingly addressing the history of slavery during the tours. According to the authors, several key moments mark this shift in perspective. The Old Slave Mart Museum reopened in 2007. In 2014, a statue of Denmark Vesey, who planned a slave revolt in 1822, was installed. Moreover, in 2015, McLeod Plantation was reintroduced as a site of critical memory tourism. Additionally, the massacre of nine African Americans by a white supremacist at the Mother Emanuel African Methodist Episcopal Church in 2015 triggered widespread protests against Confederate statues and flags, galvanizing a broader reckoning with the South’s history of slavery and racism. These events, along with the ongoing efforts of activists, scholars, and cultural institutions, have contributed to a deeper and more nuanced understanding of Charleston’s past: an understanding that acknowledges the contributions and struggles of African Americans and challenges the traditional, white-washed narratives that once dominated the city’s memory landscape.

In Brazil, the dominant ideology of racial democracy and miscegenation served, throughout the 20th century, to silence the memories and neglect the cultural heritage of Black people. It was only in the mid-1980s, within the context of social struggles for redemocratization, that Black movements succeeded in securing federal heritage designation for the first monuments linked to their memory and identity: Quilombo dos Palmares (the largest maroon community in Brazilian history) and Casa Branca Ilê Axé Iyá Nassô Oká temple in Salvador, one of the oldest Candomblé houses in Brazil (Paiva 2021). In the same year of 1986, the statue of Zumbi dos Palmares was inaugurated in Rio de Janeiro, becoming a significant political reference for Black movements in the city. The 1988 Constitution gave greater consistency to these recognition policies by establishing the State’s duty to protect “popular, Indigenous, and Afro-Brazilian cultures”. The Constitution also redefined the concept of national heritage to include both tangible and intangible cultural expressions from the diverse groups that shaped the Brazilian society.

However, as Cicalo observed, the discourse of ethno-racial recognition does not necessarily imply abandoning the narratives of racial democracy and the celebration of cultural miscegenation. Rather, there are ongoing tensions and ambiguities between the notions of “difference” and “mixture” within Brazil’s racial discourse (Cicalo 2018). Based on fieldwork conducted at Valongo Wharf over the past five years, I have observed that the construction of this site of memory exemplifies these ambiguities.

I present some evidence. Starting in 2018, official acts and promotional tourist materials have adopted the expression “cultural circuit of African heritage” to refer to sites of memory in the area. More recently, nonprofit organizations, such as Instituto dos Pretos Novos and Casa da Tia Ciata, have offered thematic guided tours supported by local and federal cultural funds. These tours have attracted thousands of visitors each year. The emergence of these initiatives can be traced back to the mid-1980s, when local Afro-descendant groups began demanding recognition of the Black cultural heritage in the port area. This neighborhood, known as “Pequena África” (Little Africa), has been predominantly occupied by a Black and poor population since the nineteenth century, a demographic that has shaped its cultural identity. In this regard, the 1983 book Tia Ciata e a Pequena África no Rio de Janeiro played a fundamental role in defining the spatial boundaries of the Black memory to be recovered (R. Moura 1995). Written by the filmmaker Roberto Moura, the book credits the neighborhood’s unique cultural features to the Bahian diaspora of free and enslaved Black individuals during the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries.

The UNESCO decision recognizing Valongo Wharf as a World Heritage Site required the Brazilian State to establish an interpretation center and a memorial at Docas Pedro II warehouse by 2019. Located adjacent to the archeological site, the building (Figure 10) holds historical significance of its own. It was designed in the early 1870s by André Rebouças, a prominent Black abolitionist and engineer. However, the building remains closed, preventing visitors from fully engaging with the site’s significance within the broader narrative of Black history in Brazil, as envisioned by the World Heritage Committee.

The delay in establishing the interpretation center is mainly due to insufficient funding and to the shared responsibilities between federal and local agencies, each prioritizing the political agenda of their respective administration. In practice, this results in shifts in political and administrative directions every two years. For instance, during Mayor Marcelo Crivella’s tenure (2017–2020), the municipality proposed a Museum of Slavery and Freedom (“Museu da Escravidão e da Liberdade—MEL”) at the warehouse. This initiative drew criticism from representatives of Black movements for various reasons, including the fact that the acronym MEL translates to “honey” in Portuguese, a term fundamentally incompatible with the subject matter. The Black intellectual Nei Lopes offered an alternative to the concept of a museum focused solely on slavery, suggesting instead a museum of African heritage. According to Lopes, “slavery should be remembered only for having bequeathed to Brazil and the world an invaluable Afro-Brazilian cultural heritage, expressed in new and innovative ways of thinking, acting, working, creating, producing; in short, living”. (Vassallo and Cáceres 2019, p. 66).

During the administration of former president Jair Bolsonaro, the participatory management committee established in 2018 for Valongo Wharf was dissolved and not reinstated until March 2023. Bolsonaro’s term was also characterized by racist remarks made by the former president of the Palmares Cultural Foundation, Sérgio Camargo. This federal public foundation owns the Docas warehouse, and Camargo stated on social media that he would not allow “the site to be transformed into a Mecca of Racial Resentment” (apud Rios 2023, p. 92).

In 2023, under President Lula’s administration, the federal government re-established the Valongo Wharf participatory committee and created an interministerial working group, tasked with proposing public policies to safeguard and promote the site. However, as of December 2024, no concrete proposals have been put forth.

In November 2023, six years after the site was designated a World Heritage site, the federal heritage agency (IPHAN) installed eight informational panels and a sculpture representing the arrival of Africans (Figure 11). The inauguration ceremony included the spiritual Washing of the Wharf, a tradition started in 2012. However, mirroring a pattern observed in other official ceremonies at the site, the majority of speakers at the event were white male authorities, including the mayor of Rio de Janeiro, the president of the National Economic and Social Development Bank, and the president of IPHAN. During the event, Mayor Eduardo Paes enthusiastically referred to two of his advisors as “white folks with Black souls”, a remark that caused discomfort among representatives of Black movements present at the ceremony. (Author’s field notes, 23 November 2023).

The inauguration sign designates Valongo as a “symbolic site of one of the greatest crimes against humanity” and “the only known example to date that comprehensively expresses the history of the African diaspora in Brazil and the Americas”. However, the informational panels installed at the site fail to address the history of Black Brazilians after emancipation and make only brief references to acts of resistance during slavery. While covering the transatlantic slave trade and the operations of the Valongo complex between 1774 and 1831, the information displayed primarily associates widely acknowledged cultural expressions such as samba, capoeira, and a carnival with Black figures from “Little Africa”. This neglect of other crucial aspects of Black history after emancipation is evident. There is only a single reference to a popular uprising after emancipation (the Vaccine Uprising), and the exhibits mention only two Black political leaders from a distant past. This superficial treatment inadequately addresses the experiences of African Brazilians both before and after emancipation, as well as the broader impact of the slave trade and slavery on Brazilian society. The omission of these significant aspects perpetuates a simplistic and potentially misleading understanding of the site’s historical significance and its connection to the ongoing struggles for racial equality in Brazil.

Other public events held at the site prioritize celebrations of African ancestry (Figure 12), religious activities, and cultural performances, primarily connected to the realms of samba and capoeira. This suggests a recurring tendency towards culturalist interpretations in Brazilian racial discourse (C. Moura 2019; Paixão 2014; Hanchard 1994). These interpretations, unlike structural or historical analyses, emphasize the positive aspects of racial mixing and the contributions of all races to the formation of a unique Brazilian national culture. However, they frequently overlook the persistence of racial inequalities in the country. As Hanchard argues, culturalist interpretations often reify and commodify Afro-Brazilian culture, transforming it into a static object rather than a dynamic and politically charged process (Hanchard 1994).

While celebrations of African ancestry play a valuable role in affirming Afro-Brazilian identity and spirituality, they may inadvertently overshadow the complex and multifaceted history of Valongo Wharf. In particular, they may occlude its connection to the transatlantic slave trade and its enduring legacies. Historian Ana Lucia Araujo, in her analysis of the Afro-Brazil Museum in São Paulo, argues that while focusing on African culture and heritage can challenge narratives of victimization, it may also fail to address the persistence of racism and white supremacy, creating a tension between celebration and critical engagement with the past (Araujo 2021, p. 89).

3. Conclusions

Sites of memory are historical productions—not because they refer to events from a fixed past, but because their construction reflects the possibilities and contradictions of the present. These become evident through the retrospective meanings assigned to the events they evoke. In the case of sites of memory related to slavery, as Michel Trouillot wrote, the meaning of the proposed representation is shaped by the time that has elapsed between abolition and the present (Trouillot 1995). Valongo Wharf and Gadsden’s Wharf, as sites of memory, reveal the complex and often contradictory ways in which societies grapple with the legacy of slavery. Their construction has been shaped by interactions between international, national, and local actors—including Black movements, scholars, and public authorities. These interactions promote the recognition of marginalized narratives and the cultural contributions of Afro-descendant communities, complexifying the urban landscape and shaping how these sites of memory are constructed and interpreted. Comparing Valongo Wharf and Gadsden’s Wharf reveals how such interpretations are deeply intertwined with specific historical and sociopolitical contexts.

While Valongo Wharf struggles to directly address contemporary racial inequalities in Brazil, the International African American Museum and its memorials at Gadsden’s Wharf reflect a more explicit engagement with present-day racial injustices in the United States. These new spaces in Charleston confront the unsettling nature of difficult memories and, to some extent, challenge the ideology of American exceptionalism. It is certain that, if such spaces can exist today in southern American cities, it is because contemporary social struggles, embodied by movements such as Black Lives Matter, have gained the power not only to challenge white supremacy but also to publicly expose the entrenched structures that perpetuate racism and inequality.

On the other hand, the field research I have conducted at Valongo Wharf confirms what Vassallo and Cicalo (2015) describe as a “negotiated unanimity” among key actors involved in the public memorialization of this site. This consensus arises from the diverse frameworks and purposes tied to the site’s international recognition. While the municipal administration prioritizes interests related to real estate and tourism, Black activists frame Valongo as a strategic site for collective memory and historical reparation. Yet, whether these efforts can transcend symbolic recognition to address structural inequalities remains an open question. The rediscovery of Valongo Wharf has bolstered tourism focused on cultural expressions like samba and capoeira. However, official narratives often detach the site from its historical context, presenting it as a celebration of the national ideology of cultural miscegenation rather than fostering a critical engagement with the enduring legacies of slavery.

Furthermore, despite its symbolic significance, Valongo Wharf remains constrained by the lack of federal support, including the unfulfilled obligation to establish an interpretation center as required by UNESCO. This reflects the ambiguity of Brazilian exceptionalist ideology, in which the celebration of racial mixing and the absence of segregation laws coexist with stark racial inequalities in work, income, police violence, and access to health care.

This analysis underscores the necessity of a critical and inclusive approach to preserving and interpreting slavery memory sites, one that acknowledges the historical and contemporary complexities involved. Collaborative efforts between scholars, activists, and communities are essential to ensure that these sites effectively contribute to a deeper and broader understanding of the history of slavery and its enduring legacies.