In the second part of the series, we established that the widely repeated claim that Europeans remained confined to the African coast and relied entirely on Africans to capture enslaved people does not withstand historical scrutiny.
While early interactions were shaped by disease and resistance, the record clearly shows that European powers repeatedly penetrated deep into the African interior through organized military campaigns and direct political intervention.
From Portuguese incursions into the Kingdom of Kongo and Angola to British invasions during the War of the Golden Stool and the destruction of Benin in 1897, Europeans were not passive coastal traders but active agents of violence, equipped with superior weaponry and backed by state power.
In this part, we will see that the history of slavery is often told through the lens of labor, trade, and economic exploitation—but that telling is incomplete. Beneath the surface lies a deeper, more unsettling reality: a system that did not merely exploit African bodies for work, but also appropriated them in life and in death, embedding dehumanization into science, law, and statecraft.
We also see that the transatlantic slave trade was not an accidental byproduct of history—it was a deliberately constructed system sustained by institutions, governments, and intellectual frameworks. Examining these cases reveal that the legacy of slavery is not only about what was taken, but how entire systems were built to justify, normalize, and profit from that taking.
The cruelty of European coercion
The case of the Berlin Museum of Prehistory and Early History—administered under the Prussian Cultural Heritage Foundation—provides a striking illustration of how the legacy of slavery and colonialism extends beyond economic exploitation into the realm of human dignity, scientific ethics, and historical memory.
The institution is known to hold over a thousand human remains, including skulls taken largely from former German colonies in East Africa (notably present-day Tanzania and Rwanda) and parts of West Africa.
These remains were collected during the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, a period when European colonial expansion overlapped with the rise of so-called “scientific racism”—a now-discredited field that sought to classify human beings hierarchically based on physical characteristics.
At the time, such collections were often justified under the guise of advancing knowledge. However, modern scholarship has exposed the deeply exploitative and dehumanizing nature of these practices.
As the German Museums Association has acknowledged in its guidelines on handling colonial-era collections, many human remains in European institutions were acquired “in contexts of violence, coercion, and grave injustice,” and therefore require critical reassessment. These were not neutral scientific specimens but individuals—often victims of war, enslavement, or colonial repression—whose bodies were appropriated without consent.
The broader intellectual framework behind these collections was what philosopher Achille Mbembe describes as the “objectification of the African body,” a process through which African lives were reduced to data points in racial hierarchies (is it not interesting that the main reason countries that were complicit in the transatlantic slave trade either voted against the Resolution or abstained was that the language puts crimes in hierarchy. And yet, that is what they did with an entire human species!).
Similarly, historian Jürgen Zimmerer has argued that colonial-era anthropology was closely tied to imperial violence, noting that the collection of human remains often followed military campaigns, massacres, or punitive expeditions. In the case of German East Africa, such practices were linked to brutal episodes like the Maji Maji Rebellion (1905–1907), during which colonial forces suppressed resistance with devastating force.
Importantly, these remains are not displayed publicly today, reflecting a shift in ethical standards and growing awareness of their sensitive nature. Instead, they are the subject of ongoing provenance research—an effort to trace their origins, identify the individuals or communities from which they were taken, and determine appropriate steps for restitution.
The Prussian Cultural Heritage Foundation itself has acknowledged the need for transparency and accountability, stating that “human remains from colonial contexts must be treated with particular sensitivity and, where appropriate, returned to their communities of origin.”
This process of repatriation has gained international momentum. Organizations such as the UNESCO have emphasized that the return of cultural property and human remains is essential to restoring dignity and addressing historical injustices.
They affirmed that such efforts are part of a broader commitment to “re-establishing the cultural identity and heritage of peoples dispossessed by colonialism.” In recent years, several European institutions have begun returning remains to African nations, often accompanied by formal acknowledgments of wrongdoing.
The significance of these developments extends beyond symbolic gestures. The retention of human remains in foreign institutions raises profound ethical questions about ownership, consent, and the lingering effects of slavery and colonial power. As Dan Hicks argues in The Brutish Museums, these collections are not merely historical artifacts but “continuing sites of colonial violence,” insofar as they perpetuate the unequal relationships established during empire.
In this light, the ongoing provenance research and potential repatriation of African remains from Berlin represent an important step toward confronting the past. They challenge earlier narratives that treated colonized peoples as objects of study rather than subjects of history and underscore the need for a more humane and accountable approach to heritage. Ultimately, the issue is not only about returning bones; it is about restoring dignity, acknowledging injustice, and rebalancing the historical narrative in favor of those whose voices were long silenced.
European slavery machinery for capitalism
European powers deliberately structured slavery as a state-supported system of economic development. This view is strongly supported by historical scholarship. Far from being a loose or purely private enterprise, the transatlantic slave trade was embedded in legal frameworks, state policies, and imperial economic strategies.
European governments did not merely tolerate slavery; they actively regulated, protected, and profited from it. As the United Nations has emphasized, the transatlantic slave trade was “organized, financed and sustained by colonial powers and their economic systems,” underscoring its institutional character rather than its accidental emergence.
One of the clearest examples of this governmental involvement is found in the legal codification of slavery. In France, the Code Noir of 1685 formally regulated slavery in the French Caribbean, defining enslaved people as property and outlining the rights of slaveholders.
Similarly, in Britain, parliamentary acts and royal charters granted monopolies and protections to slave-trading companies such as the Royal African Company. Historian Eric Williams famously argued that “slavery was an economic institution of the first importance,” adding that it was “built into the very structure of British capitalism.” These legal and economic systems reveal that slavery was not a deviation from European norms but an integral component of state policy and national development.
The economic benefits derived from slavery were immense and far-reaching. Wealth generated through enslaved labor in the Americas flowed back into European economies, financing industrialization, infrastructure, and financial institutions.
As Walter Rodney observed, “the Atlantic slave trade was a major factor in the development of Europe,” while simultaneously contributing to the underdevelopment of Africa. Ports such as Liverpool, Nantes, and Lisbon became hubs of global commerce, their growth directly tied to the trafficking of enslaved Africans. Banks, insurance companies, and manufacturing industries all expanded in tandem with the slave economy, illustrating the systemic nature of the enterprise.
This deep entanglement of state, economy, and law has significant implications for contemporary debates about accountability. Some argue that because slavery was legal under the laws of the time, modern states and their citizens cannot be held responsible by present-day standards.
However, this reasoning is increasingly challenged by legal scholars and international institutions. The International Court of Justice and other bodies have affirmed that certain acts—such as slavery—constitute crimes against humanity, meaning they are inherently unjust regardless of their legality at the time. In other words, legality does not equate to legitimacy.
Moreover, the fact that slavery was sanctioned by governments strengthens, rather than weakens, arguments for collective responsibility. Governments act on behalf of their societies, and policies enacted at the state level reflect broader national interests and priorities.
As historian Catherine Hall has noted in studies of Britain’s slave-owning past, “the wealth of the nation was deeply entangled with slavery,” implicating not only individual traders but entire social and economic systems. This perspective suggests that the benefits of slavery were widely distributed across European societies, even among those who did not directly participate in the trade.
At the same time, it is important to approach the question of culpability with nuance. While states and institutions clearly bear responsibility, the idea that every individual of European descent is personally culpable is more contentious.
Scholars often distinguish between collective benefit and individual guilt. As Kwame Anthony Appiah argues, moral responsibility should be understood in terms of “shared histories and their consequences,” rather than simplistic notions of inherited guilt. This framework allows for acknowledgment of historical injustice and its enduring effects without reducing complex moral questions to blanket accusations.
Nevertheless, the central point remains: the transatlantic slave trade was not an accidental or marginal phenomenon but a carefully constructed system supported by law, policy, and economic planning at the highest levels of European governance. Its legacy is therefore not confined to the past but continues to shape global inequalities today.
As The Caribbean Community (CARICOM) Reparations Commission has stated, “the crimes of native genocide, slavery, slave trading, and racial apartheid… were not isolated acts but part of a system,” and thus require systemic responses, including reparatory justice.
In this context, again, the claim that European nations cannot be held accountable because slavery was legal at the time becomes increasingly untenable. The very fact that these systems were legalized demonstrates the depth of their institutionalization—and, by extension, the scale of responsibility borne by the states that created and sustained them.
But what if the very way we talk about slavery is built on a flawed idea of identity? Before the labels “African,” “African-American,” or “Afro-Caribbean” ever existed, those taken in the transatlantic slave trade belonged to distinct nations—Akan, Ga-Dangme, Yoruba, Kongo—each with its own culture and political system.
Yet history has been flattened into the misleading phrase “Africans sold Africans,” ignoring the true identity of the peoples of the time and the deliberate divisions later imposed at the Berlin Conference. The next part challenges that narrative head-on, tracing how identity was reshaped, exploited, and weaponized—from slavery to colonialism to modern neocolonial control.
And it asks an even deeper question: if Africa’s story has been reduced to slavery, what truths have been erased about its civilizations, knowledge systems, and global contributions long before the first ship ever sailed?
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The author is a dynamic entrepreneur and the Founder and Group CEO of Groupe Soleil Vision, made up of Soleil Consults (US), LLC, NubianBiz.com and Soleil Publications. He has an extensive background In Strategy, Management, Entrepreneurship, Premium Audit Advisory, And Web Consulting. With professional experiences spanning both Ghana and the United States, Jules has developed a reputation as a thought leader in fields such as corporate governance, leadership, e-commerce, and customer service. His publications explore a variety of topics, including economics, information technology, marketing and branding, making him a prominent voice in discussions on development and business innovation across Africa. Through NubianBiz.com, he actively champions intra-African trade and technology-driven growth to empower SMEs across the continent.
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