# data[].attributes.headline
What is the definition of success? How does safety play into this?

# data[].attributes.subject
What is the definition of success? How does safety play into this?

# data[].attributes.body
What is the relationship between narrative and identity?

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.readable_text
Beginning in 1989, Liberia endured almost a decade-and-a-half of civil wars. These conflicts killed some 250,000 people, displaced more than a million more, and left the country with failing infrastructure and 80 percent unemployment. Forced to flee for safety and economic survival, many Liberians came to the United States-and Minnesota-on a protected immigration status called Deferred Enforced Departure (DED).

Due to the continued instability in Liberia, presidents of both parties have routinely extended this temporary status. That is, until March, when President Donald Trump terminated the residency allowance, citing the 2014 Ebola outbreak and the end of the civil wars. (The decision followed Trump declaring his frustration with people coming into the U.S. from "shithole countries," and his belief that Nigerian immigrants would never "go back to their huts.") The Trump administration then gave Liberians with DED status 360 days to leave the country.

Around 30,000 Liberians reside in Minnesota today, an estimated 3,000-5,000 of whom have DED status and no other legal residency documents. Brooklyn Park is home to the largest concentration of Liberians anywhere in the country-nearly 7,000.

Meet some of your Liberian neighbors now facing imminent deportation.

Linda Clark

Due to corruption, Linda Clark once worked an entire year in Liberia without being paid. Feeling out of other options, she came to the United States-leaving behind her husband and two-year-old son-in order to make a way for her family to join her. "People think that, 'Oh, that's crazy! I would never do that!'" says Clark. "But when the shoe's not on your foot, you don't know how tight it is. I was coming with the idea of building a better life for my family. And it just went this way.

I get emotional. I left my son when he was two years old. He's twenty years old now. I haven't seen him-," she trailed off, in tears. "Like I can go, but I won't be able to come back because of this status, you know? I didn't see him grow up, but just to be with him-

And I want my son to go to school. I want him to go to a better school. The education system there is not, since the war, up to standard. So, those that have the opportunity to bring their kids-we on DED want that opportunity for our kids, to benefit from these things that we see other kids benefitting from. My son is 20 years old, and he's still in eleventh grade. The Ebola carried one year, so they didn't go to school for a year, and then he failed, so he's in the 11th grade and he should have-like my friends here, their children graduated. I feel bad," she said, pausing to gather herself. "You know? I'm happy for them, but yeah. My son, he could be the same way, you know?"

She also hasn't seen her husband in over 10 years.

"He came a couple of times. He was coming again, but they sent him back. I don't know what happened, but he can't come again."

Leaving the U.S. for good, though, is not an option. Without her financial support, her family in Liberia would be without basic necessities. Plus, she cares for her elderly mother-who has permanent residence status-here in the United States.

When this stuff came about that they were going to take us back, my mother started worrying," Clark said. "Now she has severe pains coming up all the time because of the stress that I might leave and go home."

Clark's dream is to stay in Minnesota, and for her son and husband to join her: "I've grown in the community. I know this place, and I've taken this place like my home.

I've been like an abiding citizen, so I expect some something that would benefit from, you know, paying our taxes and doing the right thing and not getting into any trouble, you know? We're part of the Minnesota family now. We're part of home. This is our home.

And I love this place. Especially my work. I work with Wells Fargo. I've been there for 13 years, in the mortgage department. I go there, and we're like family. Every now and then, we have to renew our status, and it's scary not knowing if it's going to be extended. So, I go in for a meeting with my manager and I'm just crying, and he's bringing me tissues. And he said, 'I don't know how it is, but I really feel and I pray that good people like you would be able to be free here and do what you want to do.' So, it's like the support from him, you know? And the rest of the people that say, 'Oh, we are praying for you.' It just gives me the hope that one day, maybe, something might happen. I don't know. The not knowing part is the scary part."

The idea of living in Liberia, in and of itself, does not frighten Clark: "Liberia is not a bad place. We're colonized by America. Our first 13 presidents were American citizens and stuff like that."

But it's Liberia in the state it's in now, and leaving behind the life she's built, that's terrifying.

"That adjustment, starting over. We've built a life here, and right now, the available necessary things-car and water and all those things-we have not reached that far yet because of the crisis there. There's no jobs. When I go, I don't know if I'll be working to help the family. I will be happy with my family, but my situation will be completely different.

I've been away for long, but since the crisis, people go and come all the time, and they say, 'well things are not easy. There are no jobs. People are still suffering.' So, it would take a lot to rebuild, for us to get back to where we used to be.

I'm a person of faith. I believe that nothing happens if God doesn't approve it. And if anything happens, I know, in any condition, any way it goes, He's going to take care of me. My hope is that it goes in a way that it will be better for me. But it's going ways that we can't even determine how it's going to end, so that's the frustrating part."

Marie Zar

Marie Zar has not seen her son in 18 years: "We just talk on the phone. I have not seen my son-to see how he looks, to feel him, his body, to know my son-because I'm afraid to go. When I go, I won't be able to enter back into the United States. I cannot even send for him because I'm not on a status to send for him. It's just too much.

He was 13 years old when I left. Can you imagine?"

Zar has stayed in the States because, without her support, her family back in Liberia would be desolate, just like that of Linda Clark.

"When we work here, we send money back home also, not just pay our own bills," she says of most Liberians living in the U.S. "That's how they survive. Some of our people back home are not working. They are depending on us to help them live, to help them pay their rent or bills, and buy food to eat and clothes to wear. For me, I've got nieces that depend on me to send them to school. Their parents cannot afford it. I'm like a breadwinner for them. So, if I leave from here, it's a disaster for every one of us, for the whole family. So those are some of the things that affect us, you know?"

But now, they may face that reality anyway come March.

"If I go back to Liberia, I will try to start from scratch. I don't know how it's going to end up for me. As soon as I came here, I put on a little bit of weight, so maybe I will reduce it," Zar says with a melancholy laugh. "I really don't know how it's going to be for me there. Maybe I will stay with a relative for some time and then get back on my feet gradually.

Things are getting calmer there," she says of Liberia. "But it's not really ready to accept the group coming from here on DED. There are so many people already there who are suffering. So, we all cannot just go there right now. It won't be able to accept every one of us.

Liberians, we are here not causing any problems. We are working, paying our taxes. We are not bothering people. If things were OK for me in my country-I'm telling you-I would go home. But right now, things are not. When things were OK in my country, I wasn't even thinking about America. After the war, that's what brought me here. I am afraid to go back.

If they can do something now that would keep us here, we'd really appreciate it," she said, beseeching lawmakers. "We won't forget our home because that's where we come from, but at least, you know, if we have status, we can go see our people and come back. I would be able to go and see my son. Or maybe be able to send for him to come here."

But Zar is even open to other options besides permanent residence or citizenship.

"Even if they don't want us to be here forever, at least give us a few more years to adjust. But just one year? Before you can think, one year is almost over.

So, we are asking God, every day we pray, that we don't leave here forcefully, you know? To go home like that. Just imagine, in one day, all your dreams are crushed."

Louise Stevens

"I can't tell you now when the rainy season starts in Liberia, and when it ends. Because I've stayed here so long that I have lost of lot of memories," says Louise Stevens, who fled to Minnesota with her young daughter in 2000.

"I came. I asked. You extended your hand," she said of America. "I took it, and you said, 'OK, if you work hard, you do the right thing, you can have a better life for you and your family.' I've done just that. So where did I go wrong? I'm just starting to think now, 'Did I make a mistake? Am I wrong? Maybe when things quieted down in Liberia-even though it would have been tough, should I have gone home?' I question myself many times when I'm laying down at night. I'm going to have to start life all over. Yes, it's the country I was born in, but I left that country how many years ago? So, if I go back, I'm going to start over, and I'll be sixty."

When Stevens came to America, she came with only a suitcase of belongings for both she and her daughter. If she's forced to return to Liberia now, not only will she have nothing to return to, but she'll be leaving behind her daughter and everything she's worked for in the past 18 years.

"I've had this house for 12 years. I've had a job. I worked for Medtronic for 17 months as a temp, and pretty much 12 years-August will make it 12 years-as an employee," says Stevens. "I have a community. The church that I go to, I've gone to for pretty close to 18 years.

It's just like anybody leaving from one area in America. Let's say you live in Minnesota and you decide to go to Atlanta or Chicago. You have to start all over there.

I will be like when I came to Minnesota. Because, when I came, I had to stay with a friend. She herself had just come to America. She didn't have anything, but at least she was kind enough and gracious enough to give to us. I put a mattress in her living room and that's where we used to sleep. And I was there until I got a job. Then I started sharing the bills with her, and eventually, I moved on my own. So that's what's going to happen to me. Because I don't have a ton a money saved to say, 'Oh, I'm going home. I will take this ton of money.' No."

And even though she owns her two-story townhouse in Brooklyn Park, she can't just sell it for the capital: "When the housing market crashed, it affected this house. So even if I wanted to sell it now, I can't because it has not come back up to where I got it. I will still owe the bank."

Stevens has virtually no savings to fall back on, but it's not for lack of hard work. She's constantly paying bills-even those that aren't her own to pay. She pays her daughter's college tuition. She sends money to jobless family members back in Liberia. She also has to pay a fee for work authorization, or the allowance to work, in the United States.

"And I still have my bills," Stevens says. "I still have to pay my mortgage because I can't just say, 'I'm not paying my mortgage. I'm not paying my bills.'

"When I came to Minnesota, my friends said, 'Oh, 10,000 lakes, 10,000 jobs!' And because I worked hard, I am where I am. The jobs were there. Anyone could have applied for that job, and they'd get it," she says of her job at Medtronic. "It's not that the job was there, and they were supposed to give it to this other person, and they said, 'Oh, no, no, no, we're going to give it to Louise instead.' No! I applied just like anybody would. And I got the job and have been doing it for all these years. I didn't take anything from anybody. It was said, 'These are the opportunities. It's left for you to make use of the opportunities.' I said, 'thank you,' and I'm making use of the opportunities that were given to me. So why take it now?"

She also points out that immigrants are contributing members of society, so it won't just be the immigrants themselves that will be affected by the end of DED: "One thing I know, there are a lot of Liberians that work in nursing homes, group homes, and assisted-living. Because we learned that from back home-that you take care of your elderly, that you take care of people that can't help themselves." If Liberians are forced to leave the U.S., "those jobs will really be affected-the health area. Because you have a lot of Liberian nurses. So, healthcare, in general, will be hit hard."

Stevens frequently looks lost when she's thinking about the future; her eyes wander, never quite settling.

"You know, I can't wrap my head around it. There has never been a time since I stepped on this soil that I was illegal."

Stevens hopes that people remember to view immigrants as human beings: "There are lives, thousands and thousands of lives being affected. I'm hoping that they will put politics aside, that people will attach the immigration system to human lives instead of just 'a system.' We are human beings just like anybody who want to live, who want happiness, who want everything that everybody ever wants."

I'm not saying that immigrants are perfect people. There are a few bad apples. But we cannot all be put in one big bundle.

Unfortunately, where we came from is not as fortunate as this place. It's unfortunate. But America opened its arms to us, and now America says, 'Oh, go!' Where?! We are human beings.

I never, never thought that it would get to this point, that someone would tell me, 'Oh, go home.' So, I ask myself, 'Was I lied to? Did I fool myself? Did I make a fool of myself?' Maybe I should have just worked, forget about this American dream, and save up and go home. Maybe it would have benefitted me and my kids more. I don't know. But those are some of the things I think about."

Moses Punni

Moses Punni mentors almost 20 young people at a time in his community of Coon Rapids. His two phones are constantly beeping with messages from people seeking his help, advice, and time. He also has a 16-year-old daughter, an American citizen, and he describes himself as her "all-in-all."

"From creation to the very essence of life, I take care of my daughter. I do everything for her," he says.

If nothing changes, Punni will return to Liberia next spring: "I'm going to leave my daughter behind, just like leaving a dead corpse. The day it happens, what will happen to families?"

Punni isn't even necessarily looking to gain citizenship: "I just want to permanently and legally live. That's all. I have a God-given assignment, which is named 'my daughter,' and the other ones that He's given me to champion their lives. As a law-abiding person, basically you're telling me, 'You've got to consider living away and let your daughter muscle her way through life until she gets to the legal age.' Me leaving this country, automatically she's got to live on welfare."

Punni says he understands unlawful people being deported, but he does not fall into that category.

"I don't even have a speeding ticket against me right now in this country. I don't like to dwell on the idea of my taxes because there are people that pay their taxes and become incriminated and that does not merit them the right to live here. But come and check our record," he says of most DED holders. "We are productive. We stay law-abiding."

He also says that calling DED holders "temporary" is no longer accurate: "I don't know how 20-plus years can be temporary. Can you temporarily use my car for 20 years? No."

And Punni's problems don't stop there.

"I left Liberia in '89 because of the crisis of the Civil War, and I migrated to the Ivory Coast, a neighboring country. I was there for ten years and everything was good, and then the civil crisis sprung up and Liberians became a target. There was a rumor that Liberians were joining the opposition to help the opposition topple the seated government, and so the government troops started to hunt Liberians. So, I got a visiting visa, and I skipped from there and came to the U.S."

Returning to Liberia has never been an option for Punni because he faces danger of imprisonment if he returns, despite the fact that he has no criminal record. His brother, a medical doctor, disobeyed government orders during the war to serve in a government hospital so that he could treat those stranded in other parts of the city.

"One thing that people don't know in this country is that Africa is not like the U.S. Here, your brother can commit a gross felony, and you have nothing to do with it if you were not an accomplice. In Africa, it's not that way," he says. According to Punni, if the government dislikes anyone in your family, "they're coming after you. They're ready to wipe out your lineage. They ready to exterminate your lineage."

And while his brother was granted asylum and citizenship for this reason, Punni was not.

Right now, Punni says, he is neither welcome in the country in which he has built his home, nor in the country in which he holds citizenship. And he's appealing to people to help him fight to stay where he is, to live safely with his daughter.

"A little drop of water can fill the bucket. So, little drop, little drop, little drop and, before you notice, it will start over-spilling. That's power. So, support a petition. Talk to a council. We don't need twenty million persons to start to effect a change. Just one tangible voice, and they start to take a domino effect. And I'm very hopeful, very hopeful that there's power in a crowd of people. You don't have to use bricks and stones and tear gas and the bullet. There's power in just the crowd of people."

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.title
Meet Some of Your Liberian Neighbors Now Facing Deportation

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.description
Beginning in 1989, Liberia endured almost a decade-and-a-half of civil wars. These conflicts killed some 250,000 people, displaced more than a million more, and left the country with failing infrastructure and 80 percent unemployment. Forced to flee for safety and economic survival, many Liberians came to the United States-and Minnesota-on a protected immigration status called Deferred Enforced Departure (DED).

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.readable_text
The organization of Liberians in Minnesota (OLM) is a community base 501c 3 Non-profit organization that caters to the needs of Liberians in the State of Minnesota. Founded in 1973 and incorporated in 1979, OLM's mission is to provide social services to immigrants and refugees in the areas of education, housing, health, employment, and other social initiatives.

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.description
The organization of Liberians in Minnesota (OLM) is a community base 501c 3 Non-profit organization that caters to the needs of Liberians in the State of Minnesota. Founded in 1973 and incorporated in 1979, OLM's mission is to provide social services to immigrants and refugees in the areas of education, housing, health, employment, and other social initiatives.

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.readable_text
Peace has now outlasted war in Liberia.

But for 14 years, between 1989 and 2003, a brutal civil war ravaged the nation leading to the death of close to 250,000 people. Women were raped and mutilated; warlords recruited child soldiers to fuel the conflict; tens of thousands of people were displaced and fled the country. The full freight of the war, its callousness, and its collateral effect have continued to remain a defining marker of the West African state.

Photographers Tim Hetherington and Chris Hondros were there at the height of the infighting and captured some of the war's most harrowing moments. The duo was there right up to 2005 when the guns fell silent, a peace deal was signed, and the nation began a slow trudge towards recovery. Their photos-powerful and plaintive-documented the senseless nature of the war and galvanized the world to take action.

The tragic reality we now know is that both photographers were killed in another African war. Hondros, a two-time Pulitzer finalist, and Hetherington, an acclaimed filmmaker and an Oscar nominee, died in Libya in 2011 while covering the armed uprising against Muammar Gaddafi.

Their story has become a cautionary tale of the dangers facing journalists across the world. The Committee to Protect Journalists estimates that 45 journalists have been killed so far in 2018-from Yemen to Colombia, the Central African Republic to Slovakia and India.

To honor their lives and legacies, an exhibition at the Bronx Documentary Center in New York dubbed "War and Peace in Liberia" is showcasing a selection of their poignant images, some of which have never been showcased publicly. Together, the photos capture the paradox and perplexity of war: a tender moment between a soldier and his girlfriend; the mutinous face of a child soldier; and most of all, the triumphant emotions of a militia commander after he fires a rocket-propelled grenade.

The photos show just how far Liberia has come. In 2005, following successful peace talks in Ghana, the country voted in Ellen Johnson Sirleaf as the first democratically elected female head of state on the African continent. In late 2017, following the election of ex-soccer star George Weah as president, Liberia had the first peaceful transfer of power in 73 years. Even the exultant, bare-chested rocket-launching militiaman, Joseph Duo, became reformed and ran for office in the polls.

As a nation recovering from war, Weah's administration still faces critical issues from boosting healthcare and providing basic amenities to tackling inequality and unemployment. Yet juxtaposing the peaceful election and the serene political transition against Hondros and Hetherington's gruesome photos show the positive course Africa's oldest republic has taken in the last decade and a half.
Sign up to the Quartz Africa Weekly Brief here for news and analysis on African business, tech and innovation in your inbox

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.title
Photos: How a brutal, 14-year civil war tore apart Africa's oldest republic

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.description
Peace has now outlasted war in Liberia. But for 14 years, between 1989 and 2003, a brutal civil war ravaged the nation leading to the death of close to 250,000 people. Women were raped and mutilated; warlords recruited child soldiers to fuel the conflict; tens of thousands of people were displaced and fled the country.

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.readable_text
The American Colonization Society, founded in 1816 to assist free black people in emigrating to Africa, was the brainchild of the Reverend Robert Finley, a Presbyterian minister from Basking Ridge, New Jersey. Finley believed that blacks would never be fully integrated into American society and that they would only be able to fulfill their potential as human beings in Africa, the "land of their fathers." He saw colonization as a charitable work, one that would benefit American blacks and Africans alike through the spreading of Christianity to Africa. He also thought that it would prompt a gradual end to slavery.

In keeping with the popular thought of the day, Finley saw the presence of blacks in America as a threat to the national well-being and the quality of life for whites. He said that free blacks were "unfavorable to our industry and morals" and that removing them would save Americans from difficulties such as interracial marriage and having to provide for poor blacks.

In December 1816, Finley traveled to Washington, D.C. There he won the immediate support of his brother-in-law, Elias B. Caldwell, Clerk of the Supreme Court, and Caldwell's friend, Francis Scott Key (author of the Star Spangled Banner), both of whom had a reputation for being friendly to Washington's free blacks. Together, the three canvassed for support, and on December 21, 1816, called an organizational meeting for the society that included some of the most powerful and influential men in the country.

In a series of meetings over the next few days, the group adopted a constitution, chose officers, and decided to call themselves the "American Society for Colonizing the Free People of Color in the United States." Bushrod Washington, the nephew of George Washington, was chosen as president of the society. Vice presidents included Finley, Henry Clay, and Richard Rush, the son of Benjamin Rush. Andrew Jackson was included on the list without his consent; in reality he was a staunch anti-colonizationist. Caldwell was the organization's secretary, and Key was on the board of managers.

The motives of the ACS members varied considerably. Some were genuine allies of free blacks, and were concerned for their welfare. Some hoped that colonization would eradicate slavery. Others wanted to maintain the institution of slavery but to rid the country of free blacks, who they believed posed a serious threat as potential fomenters of slave rebellion.

The concept of black colonization did not originate with Finley. Since 1787, efforts to find an alternative home for free blacks had sometimes been praised by blacks themselves and by staunch allies such as Anthony Benezet and Benjamin Rush. One of the most active proponents of colonization was Paul Cuffe, who felt that black people living in America would never receive the full benefits of citizenship, and that they would fare much better on the friendly shores of Africa.

The response of black Philadelphians to colonization was mixed. James Forten was a close friend of Cuffe's and a supporter of Cuffe's colonization schemes. Other prominent blacks, such as Richard Allen and Absalom Jones, knew all too well the effects of white prejudice, and African colonization seemed an attractive alternative. Yet despite their leaders' support for colonization, the common people unequivocally rejected the notion, and Philadelphia's blacks became well known as the chief opponents of the ACS.

The ACS continued its work until after the Civil War. The organization worked with the United States government to establish the African colony of Liberia, where it transported approximately 12,000 blacks over the course of its existence. Although the ACS controlled the bulk of emigration, other groups formed their own schemes. The total number of black people to emigrate from the United States to other countries was approximately 15,000.

previous | next

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.title
Africans in America/Part 3/American Colonization Society

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.description
The American Colonization Society, founded in 1816 to assist free black people in emigrating to Africa, was the brainchild of the Reverend Robert Finley, a Presbyterian minister from Basking Ridge, New Jersey. Finley believed that blacks would never be fully integrated into American society and that they would only be able to fulfill their potential as human beings in Africa, the "land of their fathers."

# data[].attributes.headline
Intergenerational trauma, trauma and silence

# data[].attributes.subject
Intergenerational trauma, trauma and silence

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.readable_text
NOTE TO READERS
"Milestones in the History of U.S. Foreign Relations" has been retired and is no longer maintained. For more information, please see the full notice.

The founding of Liberia in the early 1800s was motivated by the domestic politics of slavery and race in the United States as well as by U.S. foreign policy interests. In 1816, a group of white Americans founded the American Colonization Society (ACS) to deal with the "problem" of the growing number of free blacks in the United States by resettling them in Africa. The resulting state of Liberia would become the second (after Haiti) black republic in the world at that time.

Joseph Jenkins Roberts, First President of Liberia

Prominent Americans such as Henry Clay, Daniel Webster, and John Randolph were among the best known members of ACS. Former President Thomas Jefferson publicly supported the organization's goals, and President James Madison arranged public funding for the Society. The motives for joining the society were vast as a range of people from abolitionists to slaveholders counted themselves members. On the other hand, many abolitionists, both black and white, ultimately rejected the notion that it was impossible for the races to integrate and therefore did not support the idea of an African-American colony in Africa. Still, the ACS had powerful support and its colonization project gained momentum.

In 1818 the Society sent two representatives to West Africa to find a suitable location for the colony, but they were unable to persuade local tribal leaders to sell any territory. In 1820, 88 free black settlers and 3 society members sailed for Sierra Leone. Before departing they had signed a constitution requiring that an agent of the Society administer the settlement under U.S. laws. They found shelter on Scherbo Island off the west coast of Africa, but many died from malaria. In 1821, a U.S. Navy vessel resumed the search for a place of permanent settlement in what is now Liberia. Once again the local leaders resisted American attempts to purchase land. This time, the Navy officer in charge, Lieutenant Robert Stockton, coerced a local ruler to sell a strip of land to the Society. The Scherbo Island group moved to this new location and other blacks from the United States joined them. The local tribes continually attacked the new colony and in 1824, the settlers built fortifications for protection. In that same year, the settlement was named Liberia and its capital Monrovia, in honor of President James Monroe who had procured more U.S. Government money for the project.

Lieutenant Robert Stockton

Other colonization societies sponsored by individual states purchased land and sent settlers to areas nearMonrovia. Africans removed from slave ships by the U.S. Navy after the abolition of the trans-Atlantic slave trade were also put ashore in Liberia. In 1838 most of these settlements, with up to 20,000 people, combined into one organization. The settlers attempted to retain the culture they had brought from the United States and for the most part did not integrate with the native societies. Today, about 5 percent of the population of Liberia is descended from these settlers.

The U.S. Government had provided Liberia some financial support, but Washington expected Monrovia to move toward self-sufficiency. Commerce was the first economic sector to grow in the colony. However, French and British traders continually encroached upon Liberian territory. As it was not a sovereign state, it was hard-pressed to defend its economic interests. The U.S. Government lent some diplomatic support, but Britain and France had territories in West Africa and were better poised to act. As a result, in 1847, Liberia declared independence from the American Colonization Society in order to establish a sovereign state and create its own laws governing commerce.

Despite protests by the affected British companies, London was the first to extend recognition to the new republic, signing a treaty of commerce and friendship with Monrovia in 1848. Because of fears of the impact this might have on the issue of slavery in the United States, Washington did not recognize the nation it had played a role in creating. In the meantime, a mass exodus of African-Americans to Liberia never materialized. Though President Abraham Lincoln was open to promoting the idea, several abolitionists in his cabinet opposed it, some for moral considerations and others for the more practical reason of retaining sufficient labor and military forces for the future. The United States finally established diplomatic relations with Liberia in and continued to maintain strong ties until the 1990s.

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.title
Milestones: 1830-1860 - Office of the Historian

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.description
NOTE TO READERS "Milestones in the History of U.S. Foreign Relations" has been retired and is no longer maintained. For more information, please see the full notice. The founding of Liberia in the early 1800s was motivated by the domestic politics of slavery and race in the United States as well as by U.S.

# data[].attributes.body
“Yes, these chasms are here but there are other ways to respond to trauma than just chasms and silence.”

-Shannon Gibney

https://88cupsoftea.com/podcast/shannon-gibney/

# data[].attributes.body
- Restrictions of publishing industry
- The importance of telling stories
- Still learning about YA lit (young narrators, didn't set out to write a YA novel)

# data[].attributes.body
https://shannongibney.com/about/

# data[].attributes.body
- buduburam (outside Accra, Ghana)
- Liberian Civil War

# data[].attributes.body
-American history related to colonization and other countries
-How does colonization impact us in 2019

- How do Americans view other countries and history
-  why is it a  Y.A. novel
- multigenerational stories
-how does age play into this story
- mainstream American ideas of youth ( what are they??)
- what is it like being an immigrant and experiences of "starting over"
- immigrant in Minnesota
-cycles of violence or any other cycle
-Trauma and impact of it
-"people don't talk about it for reasons"
-power dynamics
-  racism
-black liberation
-"American dream"

# data[].attributes.body
https://www.iheart.com/podcast/3-mpr-news-with-kerri-27977128/episode/author-shannon-gibney-spoke-with-host-29868644/

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.keywords[]
author shannon gibney spoke with host kerri miller about her latest "dream country"

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.title
Listen to the MPR News with Kerri Miller Episode - Author Shannon Gibney spoke with host Kerri Miller about her latest "Dream Country" on iHeartRadio | iHeartRadio

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.description
Stream the MPR News with Kerri Miller episode, Author Shannon Gibney spoke with host Kerri Miller about her latest "Dream Country", free & on demand on iHeartRadio.

# data[].attributes.body
https://womenspress.com/Content/Video/Video/Article/Shannon-Gibney-Talking-About-Race/139/737/5630