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“Abandonment, institutionalization, and in some cases infanticide,” Dr. Mitchell said grimly. “There are documented cases of Black children with albinism being killed by their own communities out of superstition and fear.”
He turned back to the photograph. Clara Washington was posed formally with her family in an expensive studio portrait, dressed beautifully, held lovingly by her mother, and included as an equal with her siblings.
“Her family was protecting her,” Rebecca said.
“Her family was saving her life,” Dr. Mitchell replied, “and documenting it for history.”
With the medical mystery solved, Rebecca needed to understand the world Clara lived in and the specific danger she faced beyond the general brutality of Jim Crow segregation. Dr. Mitchell explained the medical challenges first. Albinism causes severe photosensitivity. Clara’s skin would have burned within minutes of direct sun exposure. In Georgia’s climate, without modern sunscreen or UV-protective clothing, she would have needed to remain indoors most of the time or cover herself completely when outside.
Her vision would also have been significantly impaired. She likely had nystagmus, severe nearsightedness, and extreme light sensitivity. In bright conditions, she might have been functionally blind. There were no treatments available in the 1890s, no corrective lenses that could adequately help, and no low-vision aids.
The social dangers were even more severe. Rebecca found newspaper archives from 1890s Atlanta filled with pseudoscientific racism, eugenics propaganda, and articles treating any physical difference in Black people as evidence of inferiority. The Atlanta Constitution regularly published pieces promoting white supremacy and describing Black Americans in dehumanizing terms.
In that environment, a Black child who appeared white would have been dangerous on multiple levels. White supremacists might have viewed Clara as evidence of racial contamination or degeneracy and targeted her family with violence. Black communities, influenced by African spiritual beliefs carried through slavery, sometimes viewed albinism as supernatural or cursed, which could lead to ostracism or worse.
Rebecca found a chilling article from the Savannah Tribune dated 1893. Under the heading “Tragic Death of Unusual Child,” the brief report described a 6-year-old with a white appearance born to colored parents who died under suspicious circumstances in rural Georgia. The article implied the death was not accidental, but did not elaborate.
This was the reality the Washingtons had to navigate. Yet they had not only kept Clara alive, they had brought her to a public photography studio, posed her prominently in their family portrait, and ordered multiple prints to display.
Rebecca found the studio’s advertising from 1897. Morrison and Sons was 1 of Atlanta’s premier photography establishments, serving both white and Black clients in separate sessions. A sitting cost $8.50, nearly a week’s wages for most workers. The Washingtons had spent significant money to create a formal document declaring Clara’s place in their family.
In an era when most families with children like Clara hid them completely, this portrait was an act of defiance.
Rebecca began searching for evidence of how the Washingtons had kept Clara safe while raising her openly, and she found it in unexpected places. In the Atlanta Independent, a Black-owned newspaper, she found a classified advertisement from March 1898: Washington and Sons Tailoring now offering ladies’ and children’s garments, specializing in lightweight fabrics with superior coverage and comfort for summer wear.
Rebecca understood immediately. Thomas Washington had expanded his business to create protective clothing for Clara: long sleeves, high collars, and tightly woven fabrics that would block ultraviolet light. He had made it a general service so it would not draw attention specifically to his daughter’s needs.
The 1900 census revealed another layer of protection. The Washington household included Ruth’s unmarried younger sister, Anna, age 34, listed as residing with the family, occupation: domestic duties. But cross-referencing with church records showed that Anna taught Sunday school and coordinated children’s programs. She was not merely living with them. She was Clara’s full-time caretaker and guardian.
Property records from 1895 showed that the Washingtons had chosen their home carefully. It was a 2-story house on Bell Street with covered front and rear porches, mature shade trees on the property, and a northern exposure. They had selected a place where Clara could be outside safely, protected from direct sunlight by shade and covered spaces.
The modified school arrangement Rebecca had found earlier now made more sense. Gate City Colored School records from 1902 showed Clara attending only early morning and late afternoon sessions, with approved home instruction to supplement the rest. The administrators had worked with the family to create a schedule that allowed Clara to attend when the sun was less intense while receiving additional education at home during the peak daylight hours.
Rebecca found 1 more crucial detail in Big Bethel AME Church records: a notation from 1899 stating that special provisions had been made for the Washington family seating, north side, shaded location, accommodation approved by council. Even the church had adapted its space to protect Clara, giving the family a permanent seat where she could attend services without direct sun exposure through the windows.
The pattern was unmistakable. The Washingtons had built an entire infrastructure around Clara’s needs, using their business success and community standing not to hide their daughter but to create a life in which she could participate safely. Their church, their school, and their neighbors on Auburn Avenue had helped them do it.
This was not simply 1 family’s love story. It was evidence of a broader network of Black Atlantans who chose protection and inclusion over the prejudice that dominated the society around them.
Rebecca knew that finding Clara’s own words would be nearly impossible. Most Black women from that era left few written records, and someone with Clara’s medical challenges would be even less likely to appear in historical documents. She searched anyway.