The narrative of the Society of Jesus is often painted in broad strokes of education and faith. But in places like Maryland and the French Caribbean island of Martinique, that story looks very different. For centuries, the Jesuits were among the largest enslavers in these regions. They didn’t just use enslaved labor; they actively trafficked Africans and African Americans to build and sustain their institutions.
This isn’t a fringe historical footnote. It’s central to understanding the origins of some of America’s most prestigious universities.
The Economics of Faith
Georgetown College, now Georgetown University in Washington, D.C., is the most cited example. But it wasn’t alone. Jesuit communities across the colonies relied on enslaved people to work their lands and missions. The labor was essential. Without it, their schools and churches would have struggled to survive.
The institution engaged in the sale and trade of enslaved individuals. This practice helped fund the operation of the college and support the broader Jesuit order. The money generated from these transactions wasn’t just profit. It was capital for education, infrastructure, and religious outreach.
A Widespread System
The scope was significant. In Martinique, Jesuit plantations depended heavily on enslaved African labor. In Maryland, the Jesuits controlled vast tracts of land. They used enslaved people to grow tobacco, a cash crop that fueled their economy. The system was not isolated. It was woven into the colonial economy and the religious structure.
The Jesuits were among the largest enslavers in colonial America and the Caribbean, using human beings as property to fund their educational and religious missions.
Why This Matters Today
Recognizing this history changes how we view these institutions. Georgetown and other Jesuit universities have begun to acknowledge and confront this past. They are engaging in reparative justice efforts. This includes financial support for descendants of the enslaved people they trafficked. It’s a complex process. But it’s necessary.
The story isn’t just about guilt. It’s about truth. Understanding how these institutions were built on human suffering allows for a more honest conversation about education, power, and legacy. It challenges students, parents, and lifelong learners to look beyond the diploma and see the full history.
The past doesn’t disappear. It shapes the present. And for many, it demands a reckoning.
