Smelling the Flowers in the Garden you Created: Honors Retreat Reflection

    Traveling to Shelbyville allowed Love and Whiskey to come alive with breath and body, making the narrative not just words on pages but real stories that shaped our history. As we journeyed through hilly Tennessee, looking upon the “master’s house” atop a hill, the landscape whispered, haunted by our ancestors of pain. It deepened my appreciation for our ancestors' triumphs despite toil and strife. In those whispers I was reminded that we are visionaries and trailblazers in every industry, and the urgency of protecting our legacy. 

    Fawn and Keith Weaver are testaments to that legacy: loving Blackness, preserving legacy, and creating generational wealth through entrepreneurship. Their work honors the Nearest Green and all enslaved Black people whose contributions remain erased from history’s footnotes.

    As we toured around the grounds, Terrell told us about the longest bar, Humble Baron, built by Fawn Weaver for husband. Although the distillery is mostly her work, she carved space to honor his contributions now, giving him his flower while he could still smell them. Not only is Humble Baron a symbol of the profound love nurturing their business, but it made me question the idea of Black legacy. Posthumously, history looks favorably upon us, and the masses finally gain consciousness of the profundity of our efforts. But, why? Why can’t we smell the flowers we planted while we’re still here to witness our legacy. I came to realize  that loving Blackness is a form of preserving legacy. We have to take it upon ourselves to ensure our voices are heard, unfiltered, and truly memorializing our people on our own terms. Too often, the history of our people is whitewashed, tainted, or forgotten, but this It reminded me that preserving legacy is a form of loving Blackness. Retelling our stories, and memorializing them as stewards to uphold legacy and ensure it is continued by us. Black legacy implies responsibility to amplify our voices and ensure our labors come to fruition. 

    One of my favorite places we explored was the speakeasy, where Black women of the early 20th century could congregate for the suffrage movement and prohibition that explored an ethical dilemma. Gazing upon the pictures of women and the engraved messages on the floor, the power of the women who fought for justice flowed through the building. They were able to intimately honor the legacy of Black women that fought to maintain the security of the Black family. However, the juxtaposition of a prohibition movement in a distillery sparked conversation of the ethics of the work being done. How do we continue to flourish in an industry that is the perpetrator of so much violence? Although the spirit industry is extremely lucrative, alcohol abuse is poisoning the Black community. Indulgence in alcohol leads to unprecedented death and destruction, plaguing our community. This complex predicament insinuates a level of responsibility to counteract the ills of the industry instead of exploitation. For example, donating to alcohol preventive companies, committing to responsible consumption, operation, and sustainable sourcing, uphold ethicality for the company. More importantly, refusing exploitation in an industry centered around preying upon the vulnerable is crucial to maintaining an ethical company. These efforts cannot completely suspend the harms of this industry, but provide boundaries and maintain a legacy ethical practice.

    Being at the distillery filled me with profound pride and strengthened my admiration of Black history, but the company name made me question: Who is this brand appealing to? Branding vs history is evident within the company name “Uncle Nearest”, making history sippable for white audiences and perpetuating the “mammy” caricature for Black people. During enslavement, white slave owners would refer to their Black caretakers as “uncle” or “auntie” in order to humanize the very people they objectified. This was a blatant tactic to soothe the guilty conscience of white people, so they didn't have to confront the horrors of bondage. I thought that naming the company “Uncle” Nearest perpetuated this same rhetoric. Even in Love and Whiskey, Fawn continuously expresses the amicable relationship between Nearest and Jack Daniel, claiming he was a mentor, seemingly making history more digestible for white audiences. I would argue that this practice feeds into white supremacit logic and honors Black legacy, but through a white lens. We have to ponder: Are we honoring our legacy- or packaging?