A decade ago, a significant revelation outside Georgetown’s campus became public. My blog, African Roots, exposed how the respected school had long hidden the truth – that Jesuit priests had sold 272 people, including entire families, to prevent financial ruin for Georgetown College. These enslaved individuals are now recognized as GU272 Descendants.
A Reunion That Changed History
In 2004, my maternal Hicks/Estes family was planning a reunion in New Orleans, Louisiana. As the family genealogist, I took the responsibility of researching our family history. What initially was just preparations for a family gathering ended up revealing one of the most shameful chapters in American higher education.
I hired Judy Riffel, a professional genealogist in Baton Rouge, to research the Hicks family who lived in Maringouin, Iberville Parish, Louisiana. I sent her ten documents to review. Judy Riffel noted that the 1910 Federal Census indicates my great-grandmother, Rachel Butler Hicks’s, parents were born in Maryland. Ms. Riffel knew from previous research that in 1838, Dr. Jesse Batey purchased many enslaved people from Maryland. Her work uncovered four crucial documents that helped piece together our family’s tragic journey from Maryland to Louisiana: an 1851 inventory of the late Jesse Batey and two bills of sale. But it was the fourth document that changed everything–a bill of sale revealing Georgetown University’s deepest secret.
Judy Riffel uncovered the most important document: a bill of sale for 64 enslaved people sold to Jesse Batey by Jesuit priest Thomas Mulledy of Georgetown, District of Columbia. This transaction included my direct ancestors, Nace and Biby Butler, and their children.
On November 13, 1838, my Butler family was forced onto the ship Katharine Jackson and taken from Alexandria to Louisiana, a discovery I made on July 4, 2008, which added another layer of irony to this Independence Day.
The Katharine Jackson carried more than just human cargo that November day in 1838. It brought families from everything they knew, children separated from their parents, and a legacy of trauma that would echo through generations.
This discovery revealed that the Jesuits of the Maryland Province were also major slaveholders. My aunt, Onita Estes-Hicks, found the Jesuit Plantation Project document online, which listed enslaved people on four Jesuit plantations: White Marsh, St. Thomas Manor, Newtown, and St. Inigoes. Our Butler family lived on St. Inigoes Plantation. The sale of 272 enslaved people was not an isolated incident; it was part of a larger system where religious institutions built their wealth and power through enslaved African Americans.
When I first posted this research on my blog in 2011, I never imagined it would reach beyond my family and friends. But everything changed on November 16, 2015, when a Georgetown alumnus named Richard Cellini came across my blog. Cellini founded the Georgetown Memory Project.
The story spread quickly, forcing Georgetown University to face its history. The institution could no longer hide behind vague acknowledgments of its past ties to slavery. Here was documented proof, complete with names, dates, and the ship manifest.
My family’s history played a crucial role in Georgetown’s acknowledgment of its past ties. The university established the Working Group on Slavery, Memory, and Reconciliation, and later provided admission preferences to descendants of the 272 people sold by the Jesuits.
While my initial research began as a solo effort, the broader impact of this discovery was made possible by an extraordinary team of volunteer genealogists. At the Spokane Public Library, I had the privilege of leading the Butler Team – seven dedicated volunteers from Eastern Washington Genealogical Society who helped expand this research far beyond my family’s story.
The Butler Team included Carol Anderson, Pat Ayers, Barbara Brazington, Mary Holcomb, Juanita McBride, Dolly Webb, and the late Jeanette Birch. Together, we identified over 1,500 enslaved people linked to the Jesuit sales. This monumental task would have been impossible without their tireless volunteer work and expertise.
What started as research into a single family’s history led to a large project, The Georgetown Memory Project, which uncovered the names of thousands of enslaved people who had only been recorded in bills of sale, ledgers, and inventories before.
Ten Years of Reflection
A decade later, this anniversary prompts reflection on how family history research can reveal institutional truths that influential organizations often prefer to hide. My journey as a genealogist started with love–a desire to reconnect my family for a reunion. It eventually sparked a national conversation about reparations, institutional accountability, and the truth in historical telling.
The story of Nace and Biby Butler and their children is more than just my family’s history. It symbolizes hundreds of thousands of enslaved families whose stories were intentionally erased or forgotten. Every document Judy Riffel discovered, the ship’s name and manifest I uncovered, and the Jesuit Plantation Project found by my aunt, Onita Estes-Hicks, each inventory that listed human beings as property represents lives that mattered, dreams that were deferred, and a heritage that persisted despite systematic efforts to destroy it.
As we celebrate this tenth anniversary, we are reminded that the pursuit of truth and justice is an ongoing effort. The Katharine Jackson may have set sail over 180 years ago, but the ripples from that voyage – and from the research that uncovered it – continue to spread.
Our ancestors’ stories matter – our research matters. And our commitment to telling the truth, no matter how uncomfortable it makes powerful institutions, matters most of all.