It was just a simple family photograph from 1872, but take a closer look at the sister’s hand.

Through comparison with city records, documents of former slaves and tax archives, a name finally emerges: James Washington, owner of a small property in Richmond from 1873, lived there with his wife Mary and their five children.

The ages match. The little girl with the mark on her wrist is named Ruth.

From silent suffering to its transmission:
Archives prove that the Washington family was enslaved on a nearby plantation before the Civil War. Contemporary accounts describe particularly harsh “control methods,” especially against children, to prevent mothers from taking them to the fields.

Later, official documents mention a medical examination that revealed Ruth suffered lasting physical consequences and severe nervous sensitivity. Despite this violent past, the records show a slow recovery: James became a laborer and later a landowner, Mary worked tirelessly, and the children learned to read.

Decades later, Ruth wrote a few moving lines about her childhood and the photo shoot in a family Bible preserved by her descendants: Her father had insisted that they all be present and clearly visible because “this picture would last longer than their voices.”

When an anonymous family became a symbol:
Thanks to Sarah’s work and the testimony of a descendant of Ruth, the photograph finally emerges from anonymity. It becomes the centerpiece of the exhibition “The Washington Family: Survival, Reconstruction, Transmission,” a true collective African American memory.