The Great Escape: Tales of Black History, Reimagined
Without The Great Migration, the Harlem Renaissance’s impact and magnitude wouldn’t be as we know it today. What could the story of their journey look like?
This is not a story of heroes and saviors, as it is impossible to save everyone.
This is a story of dangerous work and the fight to help those journeying to the new mecca, Harlem.
The New Negro Faction was birthed from the South's inequalities and the dream of more, something greater than our current reality. As those who built this country, suffered, and died for it, we deserve more. And we’re willing and able to defend ourselves against those who want to continue the cycles of violence we faced during slavery.
I am Noni — daughter of Mary and James — a name given to me because of my birthright, through our lineage. I am the descendant of the divinators from our forcibly concealed culture. My name means “gift of God,” and I bear the gifts and the responsibilities to help my fellow brothers and sisters who seek greater. They tried to make us forget that we are magic and power personified, but in secret, some of us retained our ancestor’s culture, which has been preserved and passed down through generations despite the white man’s efforts.
I grew up in the racially segregated, disenfranchised South — North Carolina, to be exact — but my family never allowed me to forget who I was. Because of this and their sacrifices to protect me, I strive to use my gifts to empower and assist others on their journey North.
I never allowed myself to be limited, nor would I let this world extinguish my dreams.
I am part of a special division of the New Negro Faction with others from similar magical backgrounds.
Ora, my long-time best friend, is a descendant of the rainmakers. It was divine that we met in early childhood and have been inseparable ever since. We were raised as sisters in a co-family living situation. Strong ancestral and magical roots in Black families nowadays are rare, so sticking together was the safest option for us all. Together, our parents hid our abilities from the outside world while cultivating our skills for future use. My mother has the gift of foresight and always knew that we would use our abilities on a significant scale one day.
Ora is the calm, most level-headed one in the group. Though soft-spoken, she is a quiet storm because her presence can be as loud and boisterous as the thunderstorms she creates. During our teachings, she was a natural at learning her gifts, which shows in the effortless execution of her abilities. Our families say it’s because she’s a returned soul, brought back to complete the work she couldn’t finish in her past life. We are each other’s complement; she grounds me, and I ignite the fire within her.
I was always more outspoken and headstrong. Growing up, the community elders told me that it would get me in trouble one day, especially as a Negro woman in America, but I didn’t care. This flame inside my soul is my drive, making me extremely passionate and highly ambitious. I never allowed myself to be limited, nor would I let this world extinguish my dreams. Your imagination is your key; remain boundless, our mothers always told us. And without their open-mindedness, Ora and I would’ve never dreamt of a life outside our small town.
After joining the movement in 1915, we met Clarence, a descendant of the medicine men, a tender and gentle spirit. He came from Louisiana’s bayous to Harlem after receiving the opportunity to study chemistry at Columbia University. Like Ora, his actions speak louder than his words, and he has a commanding presence about him. Besides being unbelievably intelligent, he’s also highly intuitive, making him the perfect strategist.
We thought our team was complete…until one day, I stumbled upon Tony.
His “magic act” made him the focal point within the New Jersey speakeasy. All eyes were on him as he turned sleight-of-hand tricks in front of the mostly white crowd. I was impressed by how he easily conned them out of their money; they were practically begging him to have it! I knew his “magic” was real since those with gifts can feel when someone else has abilities. As a divinator descendant, I could tell where it stemmed from — the priest magicians’ lineage.
“You may have met others, but I assure you they’re nothing like us”
Initially, he hated the idea of working for the New Negro Faction. As a smooth-talkin’, free-spirit, he loved being able to travel and do as he pleased on his terms; his gifts allowed him ease in that regard. Just from our initial interaction, I knew how vital he could be in the work we did. He could adapt to any environment, anywhere, a human chameleon and charmer. Tony was the missing piece our group needed. I proposed the idea, detailing the kind of work we did but knowing I couldn’t force him into it.
“I’m no Harriet Tubman,” he slurred before gliding across the dancefloor towards his next partner. He’s stubborn, like me, so I did the one thing I knew would pique his interest. Before he could make it to his next partner, I fixated on him, using my abilities to call him back like a beacon. He circled the girl before cutting his gaze back to me. With his head cocked in intrigue, his feet continued to shuffle to the snare’s rhythm until he returned, taking me in his arms.
“You can glamour?”
“Amongst other things,” I smirked with contentment as he dipped me down to the trumpet’s bellowing solo.
When we came up, the entire joint was gone. We were no longer in New Jersey. Instead, we were standing in a lush green field with thin, knee-length blades of grass surrounded by a variety of bright, small flowers. There was a cool breeze, and the smell of salt water permeated the air.
“My…God,” was all he could muster to leave his lips as he took in the view. Off in the distance was a far-stretching ocean with waves slowly colliding with the beach’s beige sands.
“You may have met others, but I assure you they’re nothing like us,” I spun away from him, interrupting our dance and returning us from the place in his memory. His secret place slowly faded in patches from our sight, revealing the speakeasy, frozen in time, right before our eyes.
Gracefully stepping towards the exit, I flung my fur scarf over my shoulder before turning to him, “Think on it. If you change your mind, we’ll be at the address on the card.”
“What ca — ,” before he could finish his sentence, I conjured a tiny card to appear in his hand. It was enchanted, so only he could read what was on it. Before he could look up, I resumed time and vanished, knowing he would find us one day.
Now, three years later, the four of us are inseparable, and together we’ve helped thousands of Black folk safely achieve their dreams by accompanying them on their journeys. Jim Crow forced us to seek opportunities North, in places with fewer limitations on Black life, and it has proven to be beneficial for us. But with Black advancement comes those who oppose it.
Recently, our jobs have gotten much harder due to the disgruntled Southern whites, especially the elite. Racial tensions have reached a critical point due to growing white frustrations over the extensive loss of cheap Black labor. Their increasingly violent responses to our migration are further proof that they will do whatever it takes to control us, just like they did with our enslaved ancestors.
My team and I are here to oppose that.
This is our story, the Pan-African Phantoms.
A sweltering heat fills the room as we gather in our den for a group meeting. Everyone’s talking over each other, but we all understand the multiple flows of conversation, responding to the appropriate person’s inquiry. The den is expansive, filled with paintings, books, and other Black art, with our roundtable at the center. We dance around each other and the den’s furniture with files, as we all have information to bring to the table today. Tony handles reconnaissance, accessing threat levels for the Southern Blacks and ourselves. Clarence is our strategist and manages travel plans and train routes. Ora oversees finances and communication with headquarters, and I’m bringing this week’s telegram from The Messenger to the table for team discussion and deliberation.
“Goodness Ora, you think with your abilities you could lower the temperature outside,” questions Tony as he flops in his seat around the circular table.
“If you can’t stand the heat that badly, just glamour yourself so you’re under the illusion of being in a cooler season,” says Ora while playfully tapping him on the head with her papers.
We laugh in unison, except for Tony, who’s fanning himself profusely.
“Just throw a lil wind his way; that’ll shut him up,” I add.
“Or knock him out,” chimes Clarence as we all know Ora is powerful enough to knock him unconscious if he keeps bugging her about the weather, which he does typically on days with less than perfect conditions.
Using my abilities, I materialize a small fan for Tony to cool him down. “Better?” I ask.
His eyes are now closed, but he slowly lets out a sigh of contentment as the cool air mollifies him. “You know, your abilities never cease to amaze me, Noni.”
I softly touch his shoulders as I take my seat beside him. “Well, now that we’re all a little more comfortable, let’s get serious; it’s time to talk business.”
Leaden air replaces the lighthearted energy of the room as Ora and Clarence took their seats. I knew from the swift change in mood that the information we all had to share wasn’t good.
There is a short pause before Tony eventually decides to go first. He passes out flyers with the boldened words written at the top, WANTED: DEAD OR ALIVE. The sketches on them very closely resemble us.
“My intel says there are prices on our heads, extravagant amounts. The elites are determined to keep us out of the South, by any means necessary,” says Tony while shaking his head, “Things…are about to be more complicated.”
“They are already more complicated,” interjects Clarence, as he shows us his ledger, “Prices have gone up again on train fares. No Negro sharecropper can afford 24 cents per mile train tickets!”
“Meaning families will be split, even more than what we see now,” states Ora.
“Or won’t even attempt to go because it’s getting too expensive,” I exhale slowly, shaking my head in frustration. “Ora, can we get more money from the organization?”
“I could talk to Web, but,” she hesitates, “He’s receiving the same intel as Tony about the bounties, and he’s concerned for our safety. I think he may consider ceasing operations, just for a while.”
“Ceasing,” I exaggerate, “We can’t; there are too many people who depend on us. We’re skilled at what we do, and I’m confident our team can continue to handle ourselves.”
“Look, Noni,” starts Tony, “No one here disagrees with you, but we aren’t impervious. We can still be killed if we aren’t careful. Tensions in the South are growing for all Negros. They’re not just throwing us in cells anymore. There’s been an increase in lynchings and public killings. And it’s confirmed the KKK has gotten involved in the fear-tactics.”
“I can second this based on the intel I also have,” Clarence spreads a large map across the table with red dots before continuing. “The black lines show the train routes from the South to the North and those red dots,” he points, trailing his finger up the map, “are known Klan outposts. They follow the routes almost perfectly through Virginia and Maryland, and there are suspicions of outposts even further North.”
We pause, taking a moment to process the guy’s information. The situation has indeed become more dire from our original mission. And because of our contributions to the organization and the cause, I recognize how important it is to keep us alive. But we cannot stop or allow the white man’s fear-tactics to deter us for even greater reasons than ensuring the safety of our fellow Negros.
After a moment’s pause, I look to Clarence before proceeding our meeting. “As our strategist, can we continue safely? It’s imperative we do.” I finally place the telegram in the middle of the table, lifting the paper's enchantment to reveal the hidden message from a woman named Elizabeth.
I am in great need of your assistance. I need your services to help ensure my children’s safety to Harlem from Birmingham, Alabama as quickly as possible. My mother has informed me both my children are showing signs of having ‘the gifts’, and with no one to guide them, I’m afraid they will be found out and lynched.
Deafening silence saturates the room as they all continue to stare at the telegram. No one had to say a word because I feel their sentiments coming off them.
“This is why I’ve been so adamant today on continuing.” I exhale slowly, gripping the table to keep control over my emotions. “We knew the dangers when we started. And I understand the organization doesn’t want to take the risk because they lose their greatest assets to fight against the Southern whites if we fail. But I will not standby and allow children with gifts to be found out. With no teachers, it’s only a matter of time before their magic manifests and a white person sees it; they’d be killed with no hesitation.”
“I — I’ll get the all-clear from Web,” Ora softly speaks.
“Tony and I will work on a plan to get us there and back safely. We can’t abandon them,” Clarence sternly states.
“What if Web says no?” I question.
“Do you really gotta ask us that,” challenges Tony, “Come on, Noni, we all understand the risks of having the gift, especially in the South.”
“So then it’s settled,” I say, “I’ll contact Elizabeth tonight for the details. Our next mission, Birmingham.”
