As part of my research into the weaponization of lobotomies reflected in Joyce Carol Oates' novella Zombie (1995), my partner and I drove from Atlanta to Milledgeville to visit the now abandoned Central State Hospital. Originally named the Georgia State Lunatic, Idiot, and Epileptic Asylum, the hospital opened in 1842 to house white folx who were otherwise unwanted. In 1867, African American patients were admitted and housed in the "colored building." The site and its history functions as an intersection, wherein we are able to witness the work of overlapping genocidal systems: the asylum was funded through the theft and sale of Native land, while enslaved men and women were utilized as laborers to keep operating costs down. It was also one of the first of its kind in the United States and would help set the trends for psychiatric treatment in the years to come. Around 25,000 disabled and dispossessed people are buried on the grounds.
Involuntary sterilizations were used to manage patients beginning in 1937, while lobotomies became standard practice in 1951. By the time forced sterilizations were stopped in 1961, the state had sterilized 3,284 people, three-fourths of them psychiatric patients.
Unsurprisingly, the historical marker in front of the main building (the second image provided in the photo group and above) erases both the theft and sale of Native land and the people themselves. The land upon which the hospital was built belonged to the Muscogee people. In fact, the Milledgeville state house was built on top of a Muscogee burial ground and between 1805 and 1833, eight land lotteries were conducted by the state, eventually selling stolen land to white settlers for pittances. Dr. Tomlinson Fort was trained by Benjamin Rush, the “father of American psychiatry,” and served as president of the Central Bank of Georgia from 1832 to 1844. When Georgia received $1,051,422 from the federal sale of western land stolen from Native people in 1837, this money was deposited in the Central Bank of Georgia and thereafter, the Georgia General Assembly allocated the initial $44,000 from 1837 to 1841 to erect the hospital's first building. To mobilize "influence" within this context is to perpetrate genocide.
My original intention for the trip was to survey the grounds and investigate the narrative produced through signs, presentation etc. I was otherwise interested in paying my respect to the dead and dispossessed. When we arrived, no one was present in the Visitor's Center and no signs made clear where graves were placed. We eventually found the Cedar Lane Cemetery.
Upon entering, memorabilia from the restoration is displayed to the left of the main gate.
Below is a walkthrough of Cedar Lane.
After realizing that segregated patients were also buried separately, we worked to find the African American cemetery, named the Jasmine cemetery.
Unfortunately, while the cemetery for white patients was easy to find, the African American cemetery was not. When we first used Waze to drive to the address, it appeared to be someone's house. Thereafter, the address seemed to be part of the local prison. It wasn't until we drove around a third time that we were able to locate the actual area. Here is what we found.
As I was concerned about walking into the bushes as a Black/Brown women in a strange town in Georgia, I walked back to the car to get my partner. We thereafter searched the entire area, only to realize that this zone was behind the house we first located.
Beyond the gravel, we were unable to locate any evidence that this space was developed generally, or was the cemetery pictured at the podium or on the Friends of Baldwin County Cemeteries website. A local Black restaurant owner confirmed for us that at least two African American cemeteries were about, but he couldn't give a definitive answer to where Jasmine Cemetery would be. A white neighbor redirected us to Cedar Lane.