In the Georgia State Archives, she discovered reports from the state sanitarium and from various county poorhouses from the 1890s. Several entries referenced “abnormal negro children” who had been surrendered by families or removed by authorities, children with physical differences, disabilities, or appearances that deviated from expectations. One entry from 1896 made Rebecca’s stomach turn: female child, approximately 4 years, negro parents, unusual pigmentation, surrendered to institution by family, county unknown.
The language was clinical and cruel. These children were treated as curiosities, defects, or shameful secrets to be hidden away.
Yet Clara Washington had not been hidden. Rebecca found her name in the 1899 Sunday school enrollment at Big Bethel: Clara Washington, age 8, intermediate class. She was attending church openly and participating in children’s programs. In 1902, Gate City Colored School records listed Clara as a student, though with an unusual notation: modified attendance schedule, supplementary home instruction approved by administration.
The school had made accommodations for her, but she was enrolled. She was being educated. She was part of the community.
Whatever Clara’s condition was, her family was not hiding her. They were raising her openly in a society that typically punished difference with violence or institutionalization. But Rebecca still did not know what that condition was. The photograph showed the visual evidence, but without medical expertise she could not interpret what she was seeing.
She contacted Dr. James Mitchell, a geneticist at Emory University whose research focused on hereditary conditions and their historical documentation. She sent him the digitally enhanced photograph without explanation, asking only, “What do you see when you look at this child?”
His response came within 2 hours. “Where did you find this? I need to know everything about this image.”
They met the following afternoon in his office. Dr. Mitchell had already printed the photograph in high resolution and pinned it beside modern clinical images on his bulletin board.
“This isn’t a white child,” he said at once, pointing to Clara’s figure in the photograph. “This is a Black child with complete oculocutaneous albinism.”
Rebecca felt her breath catch. “Albinism?”
“Look at the characteristics,” Dr. Mitchell said, tracing Clara’s features with his finger. “The dramatically reduced pigmentation, not just lighter skin but near-total absence of melanin. The very light hair, probably white, blonde, or platinum. And if we could see her eyes in color, they’d almost certainly be blue or gray, with a visible red reflex from light hitting the retina.”
He pulled up clinical photographs on his computer. Oculocutaneous albinism is a genetic condition affecting melanin production. It occurs in all populations, including people of African descent. In Black individuals, the contrast is especially dramatic, exactly what appeared in the 1897 photograph.
Rebecca stared at the image with new understanding. Clara was not a white child in a Black family. She was their biological daughter with a genetic condition.
“Exactly,” Dr. Mitchell said. “And that makes this photograph historically extraordinary. Do you understand what it meant for a Black family in Georgia in 1897 to have a child with albinism and raise her openly?”
He pulled up research files. People with albinism, especially Black children with albinism in the Jim Crow South, faced horrific discrimination. They were called ghost children, cursed, unnatural. Many communities believed they were supernatural beings or evidence of sin. Families typically hid these children completely, or worse.
“Worse?” Rebecca asked quietly.
“Abandonment, institutionalization, and in some cases infanticide,” Dr. Mitchell said grimly. “There are documented cases of Black children with albinism being killed by their own communities out of superstition and fear.”
He turned back to the photograph. Clara Washington was posed formally with her family in an expensive studio portrait, dressed beautifully, held lovingly by her mother, and included as an equal with her siblings.
“Her family was protecting her,” Rebecca said.
“Her family was saving her life,” Dr. Mitchell replied, “and documenting it for history.”
With the medical mystery solved, Rebecca needed to understand the world Clara lived in and the specific danger she faced beyond the general brutality of Jim Crow segregation. Dr. Mitchell explained the medical challenges first. Albinism causes severe photosensitivity. Clara’s skin would have burned within minutes of direct sun exposure. In Georgia’s climate, without modern sunscreen or UV-protective clothing, she would have needed to remain indoors most of the time or cover herself completely when outside.
Her vision would also have been significantly impaired. She likely had nystagmus, severe nearsightedness, and extreme light sensitivity. In bright conditions, she might have been functionally blind. There were no treatments available in the 1890s, no corrective lenses that could adequately help, and no low-vision aids.
The social dangers were even more severe. Rebecca found newspaper archives from 1890s Atlanta filled with pseudoscientific racism, eugenics propaganda, and articles treating any physical difference in Black people as evidence of inferiority. The Atlanta Constitution regularly published pieces promoting white supremacy and describing Black Americans in dehumanizing terms.
In that environment, a Black child who appeared white would have been dangerous on multiple levels. White supremacists might have viewed Clara as evidence of racial contamination or degeneracy and targeted her family with violence. Black communities, influenced by African spiritual beliefs carried through slavery, sometimes viewed albinism as supernatural or cursed, which could lead to ostracism or worse.
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