Looking Beyond the Letters

By Lindsey R. Peterson, Ph.D.

On a chilly winter morning in South Dakota, my husband and I were looking for something to pass the time when we stumbled across a series of short role-playing games created by Oliver Darkshire. We selected Battle of the Brontës and soon found ourselves rolling dice to see whether we—playing as Charlotte, Emily, and Anne—could produce and publish a masterpiece before our brother Branwell’s debauchery derailed our literary dreams. As Branwell repeatedly set fire to our home, drank too much, and stole our horses, we became fascinated by the Brontë family. We were hooked and wanted to learn more.

Role-playing games like Battle of the Brontës are undeniably fun, but their ability to pique curiosity also makes them powerful tools for active learning.^[1] Inspired by this experience, I began investigating how gamification could enhance student engagement with the Civil War & Reconstruction Governors of Mississippi project (CWRGM). As a digital documentary edition of over 20,000 letters written to Mississippi’s governors during the Civil War and Reconstruction, CWRGM offers a wealth of primary sources to support student learning and research (see our educator resources here). Yet, access to accessible resources does not automatically translate into student interest. Gamification, however, could be the key to bridging that gap.

Designing educational role-playing games, nonetheless, is no easy task. To prepare, I surveyed existing literature on the representation of the Civil War in tabletop and video games, including Patrick Lewis and Trae Wellborn’s recently edited collection, Playing at War: Identity and Memory in Civil War Video Games. Their scholarship emphasized the importance of ensuring that Civil War games represent the agency of enslaved people and avoid perpetuating harmful narratives about slavery and African Americans, particularly those rooted in Lost Cause ideology.^[2] I also explored the history of video games, game design theory, and gaming praxis and pedagogy. Unlike traditional assignments, scholars argue that games encourage active engagement and help students move beyond linear, teleological views of the past.^[3] Play stimulates learning, according to Stephen Mallory, “by using the rules of the game to encourage deeper engagement, by appearing to challenge the existing cultural standards of schooling.”^[4]

Yet, as enlightening as reading was, playing games proved equally important. In one of the most delightful tasks of my career, I set to work playing a series of educational games to help me determine which would best align with the CWRGM collection and our existing curriculum on emancipation while minimizing barriers to game creation, student access, and play.^[5] Digital games like those available through Mission US, for instance, can immerse students in dynamic, simulated historical environments, but they are costly to develop, require advanced coding skills, and may be less accessible in schools with limited technological resources.^[6] I also quickly ruled out designing a Reacting to the Past-style game. Although these games emphasize student agency—an element I plan to incorporate in the game we ultimately develop—they typically require large class sizes, cater to more advanced audiences, and assign each student a historical character.^[7] Given our budget, development timeline, and the careful planning necessary to navigate the ethical complexities of assigning students roles as enslavers and enslaved people, this format was not a practical fit.

As I played a variety of games, I began to notice key patterns. Chance-based games like Battle of the Brontës, for example, stood out for their simplicity and lack of barriers to play. They are fun, easy to set up, involve minimal resources, and are not overly involved, but they also offer less educational depth. Thoughtful lesson planning, however, can help mitigate this issue. These games are excellent for exploring a single concept with students and conveying messages about the odds or difficulty of certain tasks. For example, game mechanics can help students understand how historical context shaped the odds of success, such as the overwhelming challenge of launching a successful slave revolt during the antebellum era. Importantly, they also offer newcomers to game development, like myself, an opportunity to explore game design, clarify the game’s central argument, and experiment with potential mechanics for a larger, more expansive game.

Consequently, I decided to begin by designing Brine & Blood: 7th Grade Edition, a simple one-page role-playing game built entirely around chance. Its development was a foundational step toward our larger goal of creating a game that incorporates student agency and primary source analysis. Integrating primary sources into future gameplay will deepen students’ understanding of how historical context shapes choice and narratives within specific environments. Games that present historical content, according to Dawn Spring, “illustrate not only how history informed environments, narratives, game play, mechanics, and strategies,” but also reveal that “primary source research can become these elements.”^[8] For the time being, however, I had plenty to tackle just by considering the central argument our eventual game would convey.

Brine & Blood is a collaborative role-playing game designed to expose seventh-grade students to some of the advantages and disadvantages the Confederacy faced prosecuting the war as a slave society, and as such, it offers students a chance to understand how enslaved people impacted the war and emancipation in their own right. In the game, students take on the role of the Mississippi State Salt Works, which is tasked with producing enough salt to sustain both the Confederate war effort and local civilian needs. Their challenge lies in balancing production demands while navigating rising public unrest and the threat of defeat by Union forces. Students gain insight into the broader challenges the Confederacy faced, particularly its failure to foster a unified sense of nationalism in the face of Black resistance.

Building the game around salt production was a natural fit. My colleague, CWRGM Senior Assistant Editor Sarah West, suggested using the collection’s extensive array of salt-related letters because salt was a vital wartime resource that was essential for preserving food, especially meat, and for processing animal hides. Many games revolve around resource allocation, and salt could serve as a crucial nexus for exploring key challenges the Confederacy faced, including the production and transportation of war materials, the difficulties of supplying both troops and civilians, and the tensions between state and federal authority that exacerbated unrest on the home front. Significantly, this focus also highlights the Confederacy’s dependence on enslaved labor, revealing both the advantages it conferred and the inherent vulnerabilities it created. This opens the door to examining enslaved people’s agency during the war and the ways they exploited these vulnerabilities to resist and reshape their circumstances.

As such, games like Brine & Blood—just like historical monographs and articles—make arguments.^[9] For Brine & Blood, the key argument became that emancipation was a process shaped by both enslaved people’s agency and the Confederacy’s structural weaknesses. While the game is entirely chance-based, its mechanics emphasize several key historical themes. The Confederacy relied heavily on enslaved people to perform essential labor for the war effort, including salt production. However, enslaved individuals’ acts of self-emancipation, which increased as Union forces advanced deeper into the South, made this task increasingly difficult and hurt Confederate morale. Furthermore, the Confederacy’s efforts to exert centralized power—such as impressing enslaved laborers to work in the salt mines—undermined white Southerners’ commitment to the Confederate cause, further exposing cracks in Confederate nationalism.^[10]

As a streamlined, one-page, chance-based game, however, the seventh-grade edition of Brine & Blood will not introduce students to these key historical themes without post-game discussion and reflection (see the corresponding freely available lesson plan and game here). After the game, the class gathers to reflect on their experiences, beginning with a quick poll to determine which groups won or lost. Students then explore why they succeeded or failed, considering what advantages and disadvantages shaped the Confederate or Union war effort. The conversation incorporates real historical conditions by assigning primary and secondary source reading, which helps students draw connections between the game’s mechanics and their effect on the lived experiences of Mississippians during the Civil War.

To deepen their understanding, students engage with additional readings and videos about the Confederacy’s reliance on enslaved labor, acts of resistance by enslaved people, and the impact of resource shortages and Confederate policy on morale. They analyze primary sources from the Civil War & Reconstruction Governors of Mississippi (CWRGM) collection by selecting one letter from a curated list of seven documents related to salt production and the Confederate war effort. In a written response, students then reflect on one idea they learned from the game and evaluate how accurately or inaccurately it was represented in Brine & Blood, citing evidence from their CWRGM primary source and outside readings.

Their responses may explore several cause-and-effect themes, such as how slavery provided a critical labor advantage for the Confederacy, but this advantage weakened as enslaved people self-emancipated, especially with the arrival of Union troops. Others might discuss how Confederate attempts to impress enslaved laborers for the war effort sparked resentment among white Confederates who wanted to maintain control over enslaved populations. Students might also analyze how enslaved people resisted by slowing work, breaking tools, escaping, or seeking freedom and examine how these acts of defiance, combined with the presence of Union forces, contributed to the Confederacy’s defeat. Others may reflect on the impact of resource access—such as inflation, blockade runners, and poverty—on public morale, highlighting the growing divisions and hardships that shaped pro-Confederate and pro-Union sentiment in Mississippi. This post-game work reinforces the historical lessons embedded in the game and strengthens students’ ability to connect primary sources to broader historical narratives.

By blending gameplay, discussion, and historical analysis, this lesson plan encourages students to connect the past to broader historical narratives while developing essential critical thinking and interpretive skills. While we plan to expand the concepts introduced in the 7th-grade version of Brine & Blood into a more interactive game that directly integrates primary sources into the gameplay, designing a small-scale game allowed me to explore key themes, experiment with game mechanics, and brainstorm ideas for future development. In the process, I learned that games can be powerful tools for helping students understand how historical context shaped the choices available to different groups of people. By simulating the pressures and constraints of life during the Civil War, Brine & Blood encourages students to engage with history in an active, immersive way, allowing them to grasp how agency, causation, and historical outcomes were deeply intertwined.

^[1] See Mark C. Carnes, “Reacting to the Past” Pedagogy Manual (New York: Priscilla McGeehon, 2005); Jeffrey Lawler and Sean Smith, “Creating a Playable History: Digital Games, Historical Skills and Learning,” IDEAH, 2, no. 1 (2021), https://doi.org/10.21428/f1f23564.22225218; and  Stephen Mallory, “Playing as People: Critical Pedagogy and Historical Role Immersion Games,” Visual Arts Research 49, no. 2 (2023): 102-114, https://muse.jhu.edu/article/911918.

^[2] Patrick Lewis and James Hill Welborn III, eds, Playing at War: Identity and Memory in Civil War Video Games (Baton Rouge: Louisiana State University Press, 2024.

^[3] Lawler and Smith, “Creating a Playable History.”

^[4] Stephen Mallory, “Playing as People: Critical Pedagogy and Historical Role Immersion Games,” Visual Arts Research 49, no. 2 (2023): 102-114, https://muse.jhu.edu/article/911918.

^[5] I played a series of one page RPGs by Oliver Darkshire, student-created Twine games from Critical Play, Reacting to the Past, Mission US’ interactive digital narrative games, and Nations & Cannon, among others.

^[6] Jos´e Carlos Pi ˜nero Charlo, Mar´ıa Teresa Costado Dios, Enrique Carmona Medeiro, Fernando Lloret, eds, “PrefacetoTrends on Educational Gamification: Challenges and Learning Opportunities,” Education Sciences (March 2022), https://doi.org/10.3390/books978-3-0365-3539-5.

^[7] See Carnes, “Reacting to the Past” Pedagogy Manual.

^[8] Dawn Spring, “Gaming History: Computer and Video Games as Historical Scholarship,” Rethinking History 19, no. 2 (2015): 207–221. http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/13642529.2014.973714.

^[9] Spring, “Gaming History.”

^[10] See Stephanie McCurry, Confederate Reckoning: Power and Politics in the Civil War South (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2012).

By Lindsey R. Peterson, Ph.D.

Humanities departments in post-secondary educational institutions are rapidly recognizing the value of developing computational skills among humanists and many are even adopting digital humanities curriculums. Computing education in secondary education, however, is rarely informed by the humanities and vice versa, and many students are never exposed to any computing. Text encoding documents from digital scholarly editions, like the Civil War & Reconstruction Governors of Mississippi project, offer educators one promising interdisciplinary approach for providing students with an early introduction to computing and information management in highly approachable ways. After all, students have been encoding phonics since elementary school. By continuing to teach encoding at the middle and high school levels, they can explore how digital information is created and arranged in libraries, archives, and the internet. Adopting basic encoding into your classroom even presents an opportunity to practice close reading, research, and critically reflect on the limitations inherent to documentary evidence and digital information. And while this task may seem daunting, adopting it earlier in the classroom will help students develop foundational skills in the humanities and STEM fields in interdisciplinary ways that will prepare them for continuing education and offer early exposure to career development. And I promise, it is far less daunting than you think. 

What is TEI?

TEI (or the Text Encoding Initiative) is an international organization founded in 1987 to create guidelines or rules for how to mark up a text in the humanities and social sciences so that it is machine readable. TEI is a form of encoding commonly used by librarians, museum specialists, publishers, and scholars that allows users to mark parts of a text so computers can read them, and that information can then be incorporated into coding so that computers can present the information in purposeful ways. Therefore, encoding does things like mark titles as headings, names as people, cities as places, and so on. Importantly, it also provides a framework for analytical reading as you can add contextual details, notes, and draw connections between portions of a text or out to other materials. Encoding offers much more than this, but for classroom purposes, it can introduce students to some of the fundamental computing principles found within encoding languages like TEI and even languages like HTML.¹ So, let’s explore a few effective ways you can incorporate encoding into your curriculum.

Teaching Encoding in the Classroom in Three Simple Steps: 

While the TEI markup shown above in Figure 1 may feel overwhelming, it is a fairly simple markup of a letter from James W. Fant to Mississippi Governors John J. Pettus on April 15, 1861 from CWRGM.² TEI offers nearly 600 ways to identify elements of this letter, but narrowing down to a few that match your learning objectives will be necessary. In this example, I have noted that the document is a letter, the title of the letter, the opening and closing, line breaks, and paragraphs. Having students identify these elements encourages them to think through the unique purposes and forms documents can take, and would be a useful feature in an English course (briefly explored below). I have also identified several key terms belonging to three categories: the names of four people (J. W. Fant, J. J. Pettus, Featherston, and Sear), two locations (Holly Springs, Miss. and Pensacola, Fla.), and two military units (the Mississippi Home Guard and the University Greys). To teach students to encode in your classroom, you can divide the fundamentals of encoding into three parts: using perspective to explore a document, encoding the key terms, and discussing and customizing their encoding work. 

Step One: Use Perspective to Explore a Document:

Every document offers numerous focal points, and these should correspond to your course subject (such as government, history, English, geography, and so forth) and the lessons you would like to impart. Introduce students to encoding by having them think through several different possibilities for how to use a letter based on a perspective and purpose, and make sure at least one of these possibilities is explicitly tied to a career path in your subject matter. One way to accomplish this is to divide students into groups and assign them a profession and task connected to the document. Ask them to identify which parts of the text they would find interesting or important from that perspective. 

Throughout this article, I will use the “Letter from J. W. Fant to Mississippi Governor John J. Pettus; April 15, 1861” found at CWRGM because it is a short, concise letter that can connect to multiple subjects, and most importantly, it is about students (albeit college students), which your class may find more relatable. Importantly, CWRGM also offers transcriptions of their collection, so students can access it regardless of their ability to read cursive. When using the Fant Letter you could assign students the following fictional roles:

• You are a geographer working for the Mississippi Geography Association tasked with studying how place and region shaped Mississippi’s military units after secession in early 1861. Students here will likely identify Holly Springs, Mississippi and Pensacola, Florida as important, and they may even connect them to the military units.
• The U.S. military has enlisted your team to study who fought from Mississippi in 1861 so they can better understand what motivates soldiers to enlist in the early stages of a conflict. Students will likely identify the Home Guard and University Greys as key terms, and they may also connect this to age or a fear that young men were not prepared for the fighting to come.
• The American Biography Association has hired you as biographer, and you need to collect information on key Mississippians during the American Civil War and summarize their contributions and connections to the war. Here, students will likely mark the people’s names as important, and they may even connect them to the governor’s office, the university, and the military units.

There are many roles and purposes instructors can create; perhaps you could also devise a team of historians, a task force from the University of Mississippi, or from the state governors’ office, and so on. By taking on a role, students will practice locating relevant evidence and purposefully connect it to a professional setting. They will also be learning the first steps of encoding and editorial work by identifying what is important for markup and making the connection that these choices will depend on their unique purposes. 

Once students have been assigned to their teams, have them begin practicing markup the document itself by highlighting, underlining, or drawing boxes around the terms they deem important to their purpose (see Figure 2). This task can be customized to the technologies and supplies in your classroom and budget. For example, you can project the text onto a white board, display it on a smart board, use word processors, or this can even be accomplished with printed copies. In modeling this for the students, I suggest using three to four different colors to group the key terms together. For example, the Fant letter features the names of people (in pink), places (in blue), and military units (in yellow). Depending on your students’ skill levels, you could provide the categories for them or ask them to create their own. Once they have highlighted their terms, come together as a class to discuss; here are some questions to guide your discussion:

1. Why did you pick these terms? Why are they important to your purpose?
2. How did you group them together and why? What is included when you group them this way? What is excluded? (Note: when they identify key terms, they will always emphasize one thing in favor of another. In this example, we are highlighting people, but key identities like “students” are not being deemphasized. However, if this was an important aspect of your work, they could choose to encode “students”; this is an editorial choice).
3. How complete is the information they highlighted? For example, were they given the person’s full name? (Note: Some names, like military commanders and politicians (ex. John J. Pettus) are more likely to have full names with accompanying web pages. With ordinary people this is less likely, and if the person is a woman (ex. Mrs. Robert Jones), enslaved (ex. John), or a person of color (ex. J. L. Jacobs), information will be more scant).

Step Two: Encode the Key Terms:

I promised this was easier than it appears, and while it may seem too simple to be of value, by marking key terms and grouping them, students are practicing some of the first steps of encoding and editing. They are making choices about what information is relevant and how it can be organized for a variety of purposes. The next step is to introduce your class to some of the introductory rules and methods of TEI markup. Don’t let the encoding marks fool you, this is also a manageable process. 

Begin with a brief discussion asking students whether they think highlighting these terms means computers can read them or identify them. Essentially, the answer is no. Identifying a term is the first step, but for a computer to do anything with it, students will need to encode it. A word processor or any analog method will work, so long as you have space to write around the key terms that they have selected. To encode a document so computers can read it, students will need to learn a few simple rules and methods:

• For the computer to recognize that these terms are important, they will need to add “elements” to them. We will work with the <name> element, but as I mentioned previously, there are nearly 600 options. I have also marked all of the elements in green, and will continue to mark the people in pink, places in blue, and military units in yellow.
• Place the element term, in this case “name” in angle brackets, so the computer knows to distinguish between their markup and the original text. Opening elements will look like this: <name> and closed elements will look like this: </name>. 
• Elements must be balanced. If they add the opening element before a key term and do not close it, the computer will treat the rest of the document as a name. To close an element, they will need to add a closing element at the end of their term.
  • Incorrect: “I have another son a member of the <name>University Greys, I wish to suggest to you the propriety of not receiving that Company into the service of the Confederacy….” (Note: in this example, the computer will treat the University Greys as a name, but it will also think everything following “Greys,” is part of the name).
  • Correct: “I have another son a member of the <name>University Greys</name>, I wish to suggest to you the propriety of not receiving that Company into the service of the Confederacy….” (Note: To fix it, close the element with a backslash; this will tell the computer that only the term “University Greys” is part of the named entity).  
• They can also add “types” to the element: In our example, we have groups of named people, places, and organizations (in this case military units), and you can use encoding to classify the names into their own sub-groupings. To do so, add a “space” and the classification “type=” after the word “name” in your opening element and add the category in quotation marks: “People,” “Place,” and “org.” See these examples:
  • <name type=”Person”>J, J, Pettus</name>
  • <name type=”Place”>Hollysprings Miss</name>
  • <name type=”org”>University Greys</name>

I recommend first modeling this for students using another document or even the same, depending on their skill and comfort level. 

Now that students have identified the key people, places, and military units, they can practice marking up the text with these elements (see Figure 3). Remember, that adding the markup based on TEI is essentially letting the computer read the highlighting or underlining they already completed. There are a variety of ways to tackle this task depending on your classroom’s need, but a combination of independent, group, and class work will likely work best to help develop students’ comfort level with encoding:

• You may choose to have students work as a group or individually to markup one category (persons, places, or orgs), and/or work as a group or individually to mark up all three category types. Students can add elements using a word processor or use colored utensils to markup a paper copy of the letter.
• Using dry erase markers on a document projected on a white board or a document visible on a smart board, work together to show the markup students or groups created. Have students individually come up to the board to markup one term at a time.
• If the class is more introductory or struggling with encoding, you may even break this into two steps by first adding only the <name> and </name> brackets in round one and then come back to add the “ type=”place”” values in a second round.

As students practice encoding, here are a few common errors to watch for:

• Missing angle brackets: “<name” 
• Brackets facing the wrong direction: “>name<”
• Missing the opening or closing element: “<name>Text” or “Text</name>”  
• Missing the backslash in the closing element: “<name>Text<name>” 
• Forgetting the space or equal sign after the element type: “<nameType=”place”>” or “<name Type ”place”>”
• Forgetting the quotation marks around the type category: “<name Type=place>”

Additionally, here are a few questions to guide your discussion about these elements:

• Why might you want to put these terms into categories like people, places, and orgs instead of just placing them into the name element category alone?
• What are other possible categories they might create for a document? 
• What are some possible challenges to creating categories? (Note: They may discuss that not all terms easily fit into a category. For example, nicknames may or may not be included in the name group. Or should they include forests in the places group or only towns; what about states or counties? These are editorial choices they are making based on their purpose).

Step Three: Discuss and Customize:

Now that students have practiced marking up the documents, it is important to highlight what the markup does computationally and use it to practice deep reading.

What can the markup do and why does this matter? The short answer, at least in computing, is that it doesn’t immediately do anything. However, adding these elements and element types, allows computer developers to write code that can perform a variety of things with the text that has been encoded. For instance, you could return all of the people found in a document or a collection of documents, which would be very useful for your team of fictional biographers. With further encoding, you can also add contextualizing annotations to the terms in the document, or link together all of the documents that included the University Greys military unit. These possibilities seem abstract, but fortunately, you can use CWRGM to demonstrate encoding’s possible outcomes. Pull up the Fant letter at CWRGM to demonstrate:

• If you select the first instance of “Hollysprings,” for example, you can access over 200 documents also containing the town. (Note: you may want to discuss that features like these make it easier to find information about people like Fant or others who are hard to locate on the internet).
• If you hover over or click the term “University Grays” in the letter, you can view an annotation that provides additional information about the unit, and then the annotation is populated into every document that includes the unit. (Note: This is an excellent opportunity to discuss why it is useful to add annotations to historical documents, such as helping present-day users understand this time period, offering more appropriate terminology, and adding additional information users may need to understand the concepts of the letter, among other benefits).

I have already mentioned several ways to scale this assignment down, so let’s explore some other ways to expand this lesson to encourage a deeper reading. Now that they have encoded the letter, they can practice research and annotation.

If you or your students are curious about what the TEI encoding can look like when annotations and hyperlinks are added to their key elements (like they are at CWRGM), here are screen captures (see Figures 4–5) of some minimal TEI that I added to the bottom of the TEI in our earlier example (see Figure 1). The encoding shown here connects web pages and historical documents to each of the four people in the letter (see Figure 4) and adds basic information to the two military units (org) (see Figure 5).

Students can also practice a stripped down version of this in the classroom. Working from their assigned teams (geographers, historians, etc.) they can research and write annotations for the key terms they encoded. To simplify matters, here are a few web resources from Mississippi Encyclopedia on Governor John J. Pettus, Colonel Winfield Scott Featherston, and Captain Claudius Wistar Sears. J. W. Fant is more difficult to locate online, so here are links to his entries in the 1850 Slave Schedules, 1860 U.S. Census, and 1870 U.S. Census. (Note: the wealth of information of these military and political leaders and the lack of information about Fant and/or differences between tertiary, secondary, and primary sources are great discussion topics here; and learning how to read the primary sources for Fant, would also be a worthy discussion or assignment). Don’t forget, CWRGM even includes brief annotations on the Mississippi Home Guard and University Grays, and Wikipedia also hosts a page. 

Researching and annotating these key terms is one way to expand this exercise for a more in depth analysis, but there are several others:

• Encode, research, and annotate other documents from CWRGM. You could explore the collection by keyword searching or browsing by document or topic. Students can then draw connections between documents. 
• You could also apply this exercise to other resources.
• Identify new categories and terms to encode in your document(s); these can also be researched and annotated.
• Especially for English courses, students can mark up the parts of a document (see Figures 6–7) or sentence structure and reflect on the purpose of letters or other forms of documents in general, how people communicate, and continue the discussion of how people talk to computers. Here are two examples of what this markup could look like (see Figures 6–7) rendered in a way that follows a similar method to the one explored above (see Figures 2–3). This example identifies the document as a letter and highlights its opening and closing salutation and date.

This encoding assignment, especially when expanded to include a research and annotation component, gives students an opportunity to work with a text on a more in depth level, and apply it to a humanities context. In this instance, their encoding of the Fant letter could end in a discussion of U.S. history and the American Civil War era. Here are some questions to guide your discussion:

• What can we learn about Fant by reading this letter? How does your research about Fant in the Slave Schedules and censuses inform what you know about his world view? (What are Slave Schedules?).
• What is the purpose of Fant’s letter? Why might he oppose the University Greys being received by the governor? (Note: Consider how he uses age to reinforce his argument).
• Soldier Motivation (Mississippians in the Confederate Army):
  • Why might the students at the University of Mississippi want to form a unit together? Why might they want to enlist and fight? 
  • Why might Fant’s other son want to join the Home Guard? Why might Fant support this when he opposed his other son’s enlistment with the University Greys? (Consider how close to home militia units were in comparison to Confederate units).
• What are Fant’s sons’ names? (Note: the letter does not say which sons specifically, but many of his sons’ names are listed in the census; most students will not make this connection, but it is a great opportunity to discuss the limitations of sources and some methods for overcoming them (such as using the censuses)). Where could you look to find information about them? 
• Does Fant support the Union or the Confederacy? How can you tell? Why might he choose to support the Confederacy when many Mississippians were Unionists as well? (Why Mississippians supported secession) (Consider his role as a slaveholder, for example) (Note: students could research Fant in newspapers at Chronicling America).
• Whose perspective is represented here? Is this perspective absolute? Whose perspectives are missing? (For example, we do not hear from his sons, wife, or the people he enslaved; we do not receive the governor’s response either). 

These are just a few of the rich possibilities you can develop to help students take their encoding, research, and annotation and combine it with some humanist reasoning so they explore the motivations and experiences of some Mississippians during the American Civil War. 

Encoding with TEI seems like a daunting task, but hopefully these step-by-step examples will inspire you to incorporate it into your classroom. Encoding helps students process the fundamentals of written communication in documentary and digital formats, and provides them with an early introduction to some of the elements computers need to read human produced information. Additionally, it creates an analytical framework for deep reading by emphasizing context, drawing connections between resources, centering research and explanation, and helping students think through what information is present and what is missing. Considering all of these benefits, now is an excellent chance for many of us to move past our fears of the digital, and adopt some early digital humanities into the classroom. 

Lindsey R. Peterson, Ph.D. is the Digital Humanities Librarian/Assistant Professor of Practice at the University of South Dakota (Vermillion) and co-director of CWRGM. You can learn more about her work at lindseyraepeterson.com. Thanks to funding from the National Historical Publications & Records Commission, she attended the 2024 Digital Humanities Summer Institute (DHSI) where she completed the Text Encoding Fundamentals and Their Application course, which inspired this post. 

References:

1. See David J. Birnbaum, “What is XML and Why Should Humanists Care? An Even Gentler Introduction to XML,” Digital Humanities, accessed June 6, 2024, http://dh.obdurodon.org/what-is-xml.xhtml#:~:text=XML%20is%20a%20hierarchical%20tree.&text=It%20may%20look%20like%20a,nest%20fully%20inside%20other%20elements.  ↩︎
2. Fant, J. W., “Letter from J. W. Fant to Mississippi Governor John J. Pettus; April 15, 1861,” Mississippi Department of Archives and History, Pettus Series 757: Box 931, Folder 9 in Civil War & Reconstruction Governors of Mississippi, accessed June 6, 2024, https://cwrgm.org/item/mdah_757-931-09-29. ↩︎

By Alessandra Diaz

During the summer of 2023 CWRGM co-director Dr. Lindsey R. Peterson delivered a talk on digital scholarly editions to the New-York Historical Society’s Student Historian Internship Program. After attending the talk, Alessandra Diaz, a high school student from Queens, New York, joined the Civil War & Reconstruction Governor of Mississippi project’s transcription and subject tagging team, where she performs quality review of the collection’s transcriptions and adds enhanced discoverability features to improve users’ ability to access the site’s diverse collection of documents. As part of her internship, Diaz authored the following blog post on early debates over African American collegiate education at Alcorn University in Mississippi. A thought-provoking examination of the connections between education and racial uplift, Diaz explores applying the contemporary concept of equity to reframe how we conceptualize early HBCUs and offers a thoughtful personal assessment of historic approaches to African American educational civil rights during Reconstruction.

Many supporters of historically black colleges and universities (HBCUs) typically believed they played a vital role in the advancement of African American civil rights. The institutional end goal was achieving equity—in this case providing freed people with support tailored to their unique needs rather than providing Black Americans the same kind of support white students received. Equality, on the other hand, proposed the same treatment for all groups regardless of their histories or current struggles. In the late-nineteenth century, HBCUs created spaces tailored to free African Americans’ experiences and identities at a time when they had limited access to educational spaces and the archetypal predominantly white institution did not serve African American interests.^[1] The Civil War and Reconstruction Governors of Mississippi Project (CWRGM) collection reveals tensions between white lawmakers and African Americans about Black strategies for advancement, especially those employing racial uplift and respectability politics. These tensions surrounding HBCU Alcorn University demonstrate long standing debates over Black calls for more equitable treatment during Reconstruction. Both the reactions and their contexts highlight how white legislators used their lawmaking influence and how African Americans took charge of their agency to affect greater change in education.

According to author and former Mississippi HBCU Alcorn University President (2011–213) M. Christopher Brown II, HBCUs create space for students to “develop a unique competency” in addressing minority-majority issues.^[2] This concept, which he wrote about a decade before his tenure at Alcorn, embodies the equity that HBCUs championed: providing a curriculum specific to African American needs. During Reconstruction, African Americans were driven by these “unique competencies” to vote African Americans into office and argue for equity at the state and national level. Such was the case with the 1870 election of Mississippi politician Hiram H. Revels, the first African American United States senator. Using their voting power and education, they affected change on a local, state, and national level. Senator Revels, for instance, publicly opposed an amendment that would keep Washington, D.C. schools segregated. He contributed extensively to Reconstruction efforts in Mississippi, especially African American advancement through education. Following his term in the U.S. Senate, he even became the first president of Alcorn University (now Alcorn State University), an HBCU founded in Alcorn County, Mississippi in 1871 by white Mississippi Governor James L. Alcorn.^[3]

Throughout the 1870s, African American voices from men like Senator Revels were present both in Congress and out of it. Organizations such as the American Missionary Association (AMA) funded primary and secondary-level schools beginning in the 1860s for the formerly enslaved to provide them with housing, a Christian education, and opportunities to assimilate into white society. While conforming to white society’s expectations of “civil” Blackness was at the root of respectability politics, many African Americans turned their newfound education and skills into new levels of autonomy, be it through opening their own businesses or entering activism, among other approaches.^[4] The politics of respectability reflected in the AMA’s mission to integrate African Americans into white society, is a complex yet important legacy of organization-based emancipation efforts.

It is important to note that opportunities were not equal for all. Lawmakers established schools for African American women, but respectability politics impacted African American women in even more complex ways.^[1] In her analysis of Southern Baptist African American women’s activism, historian Evelyn Brooks Higginbotham find Black club women’s activism was grounded in respectability politics. “From the perspective of the Baptist women and others who espoused the importance of ‘manners and morals,’ the concept of respectability signified self-esteem, racial pride, and something more,” she writes. “It also signified the search for common ground on which to live as Americans with Americans of other racial and ethnic backgrounds.” Consequently, women debated at conventions how best to implement moral standards in their communities.[5] Founded in the 1830s, Oberlin College in Ohio, was one of the first colleges to award diplomas to Black women at the undergraduate level following the Civil War. Most were primarily educated in the North as few coeducational, racially integrated schools existed in the South. 

African Americans who identified as representations of the race identified themselves as “race” men and women, and there were further tensions within the African American community regarding the best approaches to advancement and education as well. When Revels left the university in 1874, Alcorn went through a period of transition, and Mississippi Governor Adelbert Ames advocated for appointing abolitionist and orator Frederick Douglass to the presidency. Positioning Douglass as a best representative of the African American race, he wrote, “I regard Mr. Douglas [sic] as more capable of doing good for his race….”^[6] Ames framed Douglass as a “respectable” member of the African American race who was therefore best suited for the presidency. As Scholar Hakeem Jefferson describes, “those who embrace respectability politics believe that white Americans will reward group members’ good behavior; consequently, the lot of the group will improve.” Consequently, those proponents of respectability politics penalized those who failed to “do good for their race” and failed to live up to white standards.^[7] White proponents cast men like Douglass or Revels as paragons of virtue, or the best models for freed people to follow, as they faced continuous discrimination from white America, but balancing the opinions of white and Black Americans was complex. In fact, Revels was dismissed from his position at Alcorn due to his opposition to Mississippi Governor Adelbert Ames’ reelection in 1874. White Americans likewise viewed Revels as a model for the African American race, which in their view, included not opposing the white male status quo. This allowed elite white Americans manipulate Black respectability politics for their own ends in the nineteenth century.

White citizens and lawmakers challenged the ideology behind respectability politics, but it also allowed spaces for interracial cooperation. Some white legislators wanted African Americans to achieve limited success and envisioned a small percentage becoming the leaders of their race. Others believed that education, which was key to African American success, should be limited or entirely unavailable to Black students. Educated African American men and women threatened the social, political, and economic infrastructure of the United States, wherein white supremacy was the norm. Furthermore, some believed the presence of African American students in schools threatened finite educational opportunities for white students. In a September 1873 issue of the Daily Mississippian, one author discusses the “practical monopoly” that “colored people” held over education. They theorized, “the university had, until now, prevented the attempt at a mixing of the white and blacks which must destroy any instruction of learning by forcing out the best classes of white students.”^[8] Black students’ very presence in schools allegedly detracted from the experience and learning quality of white students.

Six years into Reconstruction, Mississippi governor James L. Alcorn presented his radical stance on partially integrating African Americans into some higher education institutions, namely the University of Mississippi in Oxford, in an 1871 letter to the Mississippi Legislature. Governor Alcorn’s background was complex. He was a former enslaver and a Whig, but he was even denied a promotion due during his military service due to his growing anti-slavery political beliefs. Following the Civil War, he joined the Republican party and a growing body of other Republicans in the Mississippi Legislature who opposed formed Confederate President Jefferson Davis. After the war, Alcorn became an advocate of limited African American civil rights, including the right to vote and hold civil service positions.^[9] In a letter to then-governor Ridgley C. Powers in April 1873, he called for Caroll Kelly, an African American man, to be pardoned and released from prison. He stated that he is “exercising the constitutional prerogative on behalf of the colored citizen of this country,” and that he thought that the African American “community” would be relieved at his release.^[10] Kelly was pardoned eight days later. 

In a letter to Congress, Governor Alcorn outlined a series of actionables, beginning with the expansion of university acceptance to include “the colored boy.” He wrote, “We ought not to be unprepared to discharge our obligations to the colored boy as we discharge it to white boy^s.”^[11] Alcorn also requested the legislature put aside funding for African American education and scholarships that were previously only offered to poor white youth. For African American men, these awards would be given after they have completed four or five years of secondary schooling. Unfortunately, by 1867, funding for these scholarships would diminish from $50,000 in 1871 to $5,500 dollars in 1876 after Mississippi Democrats retook the majority in the state legislature. These financial scholarships, however, were built on an equality framework, not an equitable one: he would give both poor whites and African American men of any class the same treatment under the eyes of the university. 

A clear proponent of public education, Alcorn supported racially integrating the University of Mississippi in 1870 and helped establish the land-grant for Alcorn University in 1871. Within five years of its conception, however, Alcorn University (which was then under the authority of Hiram H. Revels) was under duress. According to Judge J. Tarbell, in a letter reporting the state-of-affairs of the university to Governor Adelbert Ames, there was a chaotic atmosphere of “mutiny” and a corrupt board of trustees. He also frequently described the student body, composed entirely of African American students, as unruly and undeserving. Tarbell described “colored boys” who “receive[d]… certificates for wood they did not cut.”^[12] Because of the allegedly poor management of the University, he alleged the African American male students would not be deserving of their college degrees. However, Tarbell seemed to advocate for the improvement of the University and the establishment of a new board but believed that the government should take authority over its affairs to ensure a successful future for the university and its African American students.

Alcorn made a complex comment one letter to Congress relating to language surrounding African American education, which was a subtle yet impactful departure from how men like Tarbell viewed their role in education: “By the time at which [African Americans] shall have made their coming demand for a collegiate education.” Note that Alcorn says that they “demand” collegiate education.^[13] White Americans viewed higher education not as a right but a privilege to be earned, but it also highlights African Americans’ commitment to securing educational opportunities. Alcorn’s status as a former enslaver is not forgotten by historians because of his contributions to the early civil rights movements. However, his nuanced advocacy in Mississippi state Congress was an important historical event in land-granting for predominately African American educational institutions. At the same time, these “demands” Alcorn cited were a quick glimpse into the greater movement that African Americans headed and what they would achieve in the coming years.

Underlying these governmental decisions during Reconstruction was the notion that until African Americans reached the intellectual capacity of affluent white men, treating them as an inferior race was acceptable if not encouraged. Personally, I disagree both with this idea and the approach of just equality in education as men like Alcorn believed to be the extent of progress. Education is a specific necessity for African Americans of all genders and classes to tell stories of their joy, pain, and triumph—equitable education would achieve this. As Black Americans recognized during Reconstruction, equitable education includes the creation of HBCUs, because it is a necessity to be independent of white American institutions, including all-white schools that already exist, and define success for themselves. Most white male Americans had these rights to self-conception at the same time African Americans were being denied them.

            Furthermore, I believe giving marginalized groups the power to decide how to exercise autonomy in education is the only way for that autonomy to come into fruition. Racially integrated and race-conscious education is the most effective way to create an America where multiple perspectives were represented. In 1867 during a speech to his fellow senators in Charleston, U.S. Senator Charles Sumner said, “A republic without education is like the creature of imagination, a human being without a soul, living and moving blindly, with no sense of the present or the future.”^[14] Sumner continued on to say that, in order for southern states to reassociate with the Union, they must champion “public schools which shall be open to all without distinction of race or color, … and the new governments find support in the intelligence of the people.” Sumner, like Alcorn, adhered to equality instead of equity. Instead of creating schools specifically for African American students, such as HBCUs, previously existing schools should simply be colorblind—or ignorant of race and ethnicity—and accept all students. It seems that white men such as he and Alcorn, who advocated for more African American rights after Emancipation, acknowledged that there needed to be some reform, but could not or would not go as far as to specify why that reform needed to be focalized—or, why within formerly-segregated schools, there needed to be resources for African American students to go to that white students may not have ever needed.

Southern states and their civil servants needed to acknowledge the necessity of African Americans in education. The Radical Republicans believed an entirely new order needed to be created in the United States as African Americans demanded human rights and specific treatment after the legal end of slavery, which modern scholars would consider “equity,” not equality.^[15] This new order would prioritize African Americans voicing their experiences and the experiences of others that continue to face oppression.

Alessandra Diaz is a high school senior in Queens, New York. She has been working at the Civil War and Reconstruction Governors of Mississippi Project as a research intern on the transcription and subject tagging research team since September of 2023, and intends to study History and Political Science at Columbia University beginning in the fall of 2024.

[1] James D. Anderson, “Philanthropy, the State and the Development of Historically Black Public Colleges: The Case of Mississippi,” (Minerva 35, no. 3, 1997), 295–309.

[2] M. Christopher Brown and James Earl Davis, “The Historically Black College as Social Contract, Social Capital, and Social Equalizer,” ((Peabody Journal of Education 76, no. 1, 2001), 31–49.

[3] Office of History and Preservation Office of the Clerk, U.S. House of Representatives, “Former Members: Hiram Rhodes Revels, 1827–1901” in Black Americans in Congress 1870–2007 (Washington, DC: U.S. Government Printing Office, 2008), 56.

[4] Clara Merritt DeBoer, His Truth Is Marching On: African Americans Who Taught the Freedmen for the American Missionary Association, 1861-1877. (Routledge, 2018), 1995

[5] See Evelyn Brooks Higginbotham, Righteous Discontent: The Women’s Movement in the Black Baptist Church, (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1993), 188.

[6] Mississippi Governor Adelbert Ames to F. C. Harris, (The Civil War and Reconstruction Governors of Mississippi Project), 1. https://cwrgm.org/item/mdah_803-992-06-04

5 Jefferson, Hakeem. “The Politics of Respectability and Black Americans’ Punitive Attitudes,” (American Political Science Review 117, no. 4, 2023), 1453.

6 Hazel V. Carby, Race Men (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1998), 5.

[8] “The Rights of Freedmen,” The Daily Mississippian, September 14, 1865.

[9] David Sansing, “James Lusk Alcorn: Twenty-eighth Governor of Mississippi: March 1870 to November 1871,” Mississippi History Now. Mississippi Historical Society, December 2003. https://www.mshistorynow.mdah.ms.gov/issue/james-lusk-alcorn-twenty-eighth-governor-of-mississippi-march-1870-to-november-1871

[10] James L. Alcorn to Mississippi Governor Ridgley C. Powers, April 10, 1873, (The Civil War and Reconstruction Governors of Mississippi Project) 1. https://cdm17313.contentdm.oclc.org/digital/collection/mdah/id/36611

[11] James L. Alcorn to Mississippi Legislature, May 1, 1871, (The Civil War and Reconstruction Governors of Mississippi), 4. https://cdm17313.contentdm.oclc.org/digital/collection/mdah/id/25639

[12] Judge J. Tarbell to Mississippi Governor Adelbert Ames, December 25, 1875, (The Civil War and Reconstruction Governors of Mississippi Project), 6. https://cdm17313.contentdm.oclc.org/digital/collection/mdah/id/33268

[13] James L. Alcorn to Mississippi Legislature (The Civil War and Reconstruction Governors of Mississippi Project), 5. https://cdm17313.contentdm.oclc.org/digital/collection/mdah/id/25639

[14] Tyack, David, and Robert Lowe. “The Constitutional Moment: Reconstruction and Black Education in the South.” (American Journal of Education 94, no. 2 , 1986), 237.

[15] Richard White, The Republic for Which is Stands (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2017), 366–67.