Programs Blog

Mon Sep 16 

SEA Education Association campus, Woods Hole, MA

Sunny, 70˚ F

I’m so grateful to be a part of this experience, and it’s been an amazing journey so far but it’s been hard to shake the images and words of our Mystic Seaport Visit. I’m in school thinking about the future of Earth, and The Mystic Seaport Museum seems to be stuck in the past in the worst way possible. If I may,

I’d like to share my thoughts with you.

“The Mystic Seaport Museum: A Dark Symbol of Settler Colonialism” 

As a citizen of Cherokee Nation, I understand the legacy of America all too well. Many would rather not confront the country’s history of colonialism, suffering, mass displacement, and the genocide of Native Americans. Yet, many of us have been at the forefront, calling for Americans to face this painful truth. Today, African Americans, Native Americans, and other ethnic minorities, along with our allies, have stood against symbols of the past, like Confederate statues. Others, however, argue that preserving such artifacts is crucial for future generations to remember and avoid repeating past atrocities. Institutions like museums play a key role in this effort to “preserve history.” Yet, there is often a troubling loss of focus on the true meaning behind this preservation. What part of American history are we really holding onto? Upon closer inspection, it becomes clear that many prefer to selectively remember history. They look back with rose-colored glasses, ignoring the harsh realities of past injustices. A recent visit to a museum revealed that many of these establishments, which claim to be beacons of cultural preservation, still obscure the darker sides of American history.

The Museum Unveiled: A Dark Symbol

I recently visited the Mystic Seaport Maritime Museum, a renowned institution located in the picturesque coastal town of Mystic, Connecticut. The museum is celebrated for its vast collection of historic ships, artifacts, and exhibits that highlight America’s maritime prowess. For many, walking through the museum evokes a sense of nostalgia, celebrating the country’s proud maritime heritage.

But for someone like me, a citizen of the Cherokee Nation, the romanticized veneer scarcely conceals the darker truths behind this grandeur. Each year, countless visitors pass through the museum, unaware of the troubling legacy it represents. While some view this era as one of bold exploration, trade, and economic prosperity under challenging conditions, I see it as a monument to a far more sinister history—a history marked by settler colonialism, the transatlantic slave trade, predatory capitalism, exploitation, the massacre of Native Americans, and the hunting to near extinction of entire ocean species.

The “Hidden” Legacy

The Mystic Seaport Museum claims to preserve American maritime history, but it also represents a broader, often concealed, legacy. Many people celebrate seafaring as a vital step toward human progress, trade, and the founding of America. But would they feel the same pride if they truly understood that it also paved the way for the colonization of North America and the widespread displacement of Indigenous peoples? When European settlers arrived, they claimed lands through violence, displacing the Native tribes who already lived there. Often, they relied on superior weaponry and deception, pretending to be explorers while their real intent was conquest.

It’s deeply unsettling to me that the ships, maps, and artifacts so highly regarded at the Mystic Seaport Museum were instruments of colonial expansion. These vessels were not merely tools for exploration but symbols of conquest, used to map new territories and justify the violent displacement of Indigenous communities under the guise of concepts like manifest destiny. For example, the museum’s exhibit on the Amistad, a ship tied to the slave trade, highlights just how these vessels were part of a larger system of oppression. Yet many visitors look upon them with admiration, ignoring their darker legacy, which is deeply troubling because this reality is rarely acknowledged.

During my visit, I felt a sense of exclusion, as though my perspective—as a descendant of people who lived on this land for thousands of years—was unwelcome. The museum, with all the resources invested in it, failed to adequately address the true history. Despite its emphasis on sea vessels and maritime accomplishments, there was a glaring absence of the broader, more painful truth. The only acknowledgment of this history, the “Entwined” exhibit, was tucked away in a small, dark, windowless building. To me, this placement spoke volumes about how the museum regards African American and Native American histories—as if they should remain hidden, out of sight, to avoid confronting the harsh realities of the past.

The Slave Trade

The displacement and killing of Indigenous peoples in America is often regarded as one of the most deplorable aspects of the country’s history, but slavery stands alongside it in its cruelty. The maritime industry played a central role in the Transatlantic Slave Trade, with ships—many of which are now admired in museums—being the very vessels that transported Native Africans from Africa to a life of suffering and death in America.

It is deeply troubling that museums promoting themselves as centers for shipbuilding, whaling, and maritime exploration often neglect to address this grim history. By focusing on maritime accomplishments, they overlook the fact that many of these ships were integral to a brutal trade where Black people were treated as commodities, condemned to lives of enslavement or worse. Many museum visitors remain unwilling to confront the uncomfortable truths about the role of these vessels in America’s shameful past.

Equally disappointing is the lack of culturally sensitive voices to provide proper context regarding the intersection of seafaring and slavery. Even at the museum’s Amistad replica, the guide failed to give a tour or adequately discuss the ship’s connection to the slave trade, as if trying to gloss over its dark historical significance.

Misguided Capitalism

As someone studying with an organization dedicated to environmental preservation, I can’t help but view the legacy this museum represents as extending beyond historical exploitation to environmental degradation, a clear consequence of unchecked capitalism. The museum’s most popular exhibit, focused on whaling and seafaring vessels, particularly troubled me. As a Native American and environmentalist, I was aghast as I witnessed the celebration of whaling—a practice that was devastating to ocean ecosystems and had far-reaching consequences. These whaling ships were built using timber from old-growth forests, trees that were never replaced. The ships then set out to hunt magnificent whales, driving some species to the brink of extinction. In an era where we are well aware of the environmental costs, how can the museum be so out of touch?

I find it appalling that whaling is framed as a “success story” without acknowledging the environmental cost, which often remains an afterthought. The economic drive for whale oil fueled a relentless pursuit of profit, pushing various whale species toward extinction. The impact of whaling rippled through ocean ecosystems—some of which took decades to recover, while others still struggle as endangered species. The museum glorifies activities like whaling as examples of human ingenuity and perseverance, but this does not excuse the devastation inflicted on marine life and ecosystems.

The issues of exploitation extend beyond whaling and its environmental consequences. Indentured servitude was common practice, and while merchants and shipowners made vast fortunes, those doing the labor suffered. Yet the museum celebrates seafaring as an integral part of American history, glossing over the harsh realities of exploitation.

During the tour, I was struck by the tone-deaf attitude of the museum. For example, the museum wanted to maintain the Sabino as a coal-powered ferry. We were told they were searching for an engineer to maintain its coal-powered state for the sake of “historical accuracy.” As an environmental scientist, I was baffled—how could they think demonstrating a coal-fired engine was a good idea in the present day? We would have been far more unimpressed if they had told us the ship’s steam engine had been retrofitted with an electric one and that the museum, in an effort to reach net zero, had installed a windmill and solar panels.

We never heard a detailed history of the First Nation, Mashantucket Pequot. It left me wondering—why couldn’t the museum have a member of the Mashantucket Pequot tribe share the history of their own people?

Additionally, no one from the museum mentioned the 10,000-year-old wetland that was destroyed when Mystic was first settled. We only learned about this ancient wetland from a marine biologist, while sitting in a parking lot across the street from the museum.

Responsibility and Conclusion

I understand the importance of remembering history, and that’s why museums play such a crucial role—they have the power to shape how people perceive the past and, ultimately, create a better future. That’s why my recent visit to the Mystic Seaport Museum left me unimpressed. The museum failed to acknowledge the darker chapters of history, choosing instead to focus solely on the positives. Their narrow emphasis on the “glorious days” of sailing glosses over the harmful impacts of that era.

In hindsight, confronting the destruction and exploitation tied to the artifacts on display—rather than ignoring it—would benefit the museum far more. It could attract an audience that’s willing to engage with the uncomfortable truths of history, leading to a deeper, more meaningful understanding of the past. By understanding the past as a whole, we not only prevent its repetition but also offer later generations hope for a more just and sustainable future.

ᏙᏓᏓᎦᎾᎵᎢᎦ (Dodadaganeli’i). We’re still here.

Jeff Becko, Columbia University