I cannot remember when I first heard about the Zong massacre. I seem to have known about it forever. In some ways, in the context of all the atrocities of racial enslavement and extractive colonisation, it is just one more thing. We live in a world of horrors. However, in writing Decolonisation and Legal Knowledge, the court case that deliberated on the specific horrors of the Zong became a running motif for me. This was particularly important as I tried to articulate the nature and character of the law and what it allows; who it sees and who it does not see or protect is also important. In this essay, I want to engage with the various ways in which some people (including myself) have responded to the challenge raised by the story of the Zong. In other words, what do you do after you hear about a massacre like the Zong?
But first the facts of the case of Gregson v Gilbert (1783)
In 1781, at the height of the trade in kidnapped Africans, the slave ship Zong, owned by a Liverpool syndicate, was en route to Jamaica from Ghana, West Africa. The ship was carrying around 470 enslaved people held in terrible conditions, controlled by a crew of just 17. It was twice the number the ship was designed for. It ran low on water due to navigational errors. The ship’s captain, Luke Collingwood, knew that if the enslaved Africans died of natural causes before they could be sold, they wouldn’t make as much profit as expected. (This was Collingwood’s first journey as a captain; he had previously worked as a surgeon on the ship William). Collingwood was motivated by the fact that their insurance policy for their cargo covered emergencies. He calculated that if the enslaved people were thrown into the water to “protect” the safety of those onboard, the crew and owners could recover their “value” through an insurance claim.
Therefore, between November 29 and the following days, the crew of the British ship Zong killed 133 of their African captives by throwing them overboard. These actions relied on categorising the human victims as cargo only. In the ensuing court case, the crew claimed that reduced food and water supplies created a necessity for the mass killing. So they were “cargo” that also needed food and water to survive. However, on the ship’s return to the UK, the insurers refused to pay, challenging the story that the ship had really run out of water.
A trial was held in March 1783 at the Guildhall in central London to settle the dispute. The court case, Gregson v. Gilbert (1783), ultimately decided on appeal, was focused only on the insurance claim and not the self-confessed killing of human beings that founded the claim. The jury in the trial of first instance found in favour of the slave traders, allowing them to claim insurance. The insurers appealed the decision. On appeal, Justice Mansfield held that a necessity had not been proven—it was not conclusive that the ship had run out of water since there was testimony that it was raining during the massacre. As Krikler argues, this finding suggests that had a necessity been proven, the killing of 133 human beings would have been justified. Krikler’s observation tells us something about the nature of Euro-modern law itself. At no point were the Africans considered human in the eyes of the law. At the appeal hearing instigated by the insurers, the barrister acting for the Zong’s owners illustrated that point bluntly thus:
‘What is this claim that human people have been thrown overboard? This is a case of chattels or goods. Blacks are goods and property; it is madness to accuse these well-serving honourable men of murder.’
In his judgment, Justice Mansfield noted:
“It has been decided, whether wisely or unwisely is not now the question, that a portion of our fellow-creatures may become the subject of property… The argument drawn from the law respecting indictments for murder does not apply.”
In law, you cannot murder property. Law determines what or who is property.
Olaudah Equiano, who had been freed from enslavement and was living in London, outraged at the massacre, had brought it to the attention of abolitionist Granville Sharp. Through the work of both men, the shocking details of the case galvanised the British abolitionist movement against the slave trade.
That is one response to the Zong. News of the brutality of the massacre boosted support for anti-slavery campaigners and helped drive change. In 1788, the first regulation limited the number of enslaved Africans a ship could carry. The British slave trade was outlawed in 1807, and all enslaved people in the British Empire were freed by law in 1833. This is the way in which the story of the Zong is often narrated. A triumph over slavery that took 52 years and countless unnamed lives and resulted in compensation for slave owners and continued servitude and dehumanisation for the formerly enslaved. 245 years after the events of the Zong, humanity is still discarding lives deemed not human enough to the open seas, to fire, to hunger, to war.

In the Present-Day Law School
SO, WHY DO YOU STILL CARE ABOUT THE ZONG, FOLUKE???
Before I explain why I still care about the Zong, I want to consider other people’s words who also still care.


M. NourbeSe Philip, Canadian poet and novelist
In 2008, Philip published Zong!, an extended 182-page poetry cycle which is composed entirely from the words of the case report. Zong! abides by a protocol of loosening and shattering, retrieval and defacement, in order to voice the African presence in a sense extinguished twice. First assassinated by being thrown into the water, then unseen and destroyed again by law. The book is a haunting, fragmented anti-narrative that serves as a lament and memorial rather than a traditional narrative. In her own words:

Adam Oyebanji, Scottish-based novelist and financial crime lawyer
In his book, Esperance, Oyebanji tells the story of Ethan Krol, a Chicago policeman who has been sent to investigate an exceedingly mysterious murder. A man and a child lie dead in their home, while the wife and mother is found unconscious, almost in a coma-like state. The victims have been literally drowned in seawater, miles from any ocean. Krol’s investigations eventually bring him to Providence, Rhode Island, the scene of an identical murder. There he allies with Detective Nicole Gutierrez to solve the crime. Further down the line we encounter Abidemi “Abi” Eniola. An Amazonian Black woman enhanced with high-tech equipment, both implanted and portable, she materialises in Bristol, England, and starts her own search. In an interview, he explains how the Zong massacre inspired him to write this story.
Esperance means hope. What hope exists in a world shaped by a law with the character to let the Zong happen? What hope for justice forgets the murdered are people?
In this brilliant story, Oyebanji makes the reader question perceptions of guilt and innocence, of vengeance and justice, of time itself – all the while asking what makes us truly human. A tour de force and most highly recommended. Julie E. Czerneda, author of To Each This World
this page-burner earns its moral heft by engaging with one of the ugliest mass human abuses in the history of our planet and considering what enslavement might have looked like through another planet’s eyes.’ — Donna Glee Williams, author of The Night Field

Giles Terera British actor and musician
Terera explains how he came to write this play:
Foluke Adebisi: British Nigerian Lawyer, Teacher and Poet
The second instance is in my monograph, Decolonisation and Legal Knowledge, where I weave the case through the book’s examination of the impact of colonial logics on the nature of law. In the final substantive chapter I return to the case thus:
Imagine the scene, this deck of a slave ship. Screams in unremembered languages rent the night sky, from bodies whose names the slave traders had not deigned to know or record. Precious cargo held in vulnerable bodies. Which of these is intelligible to Euro-modern law? Their life or their value as property? What story and which principles of the Zong survive into law schools? Which bodies, which spaces, which times, which legal knowledge survive the Zong? The fact that the slavers were in possession of those bodies, that space, and in that time, meant that their actions served to make the most of those bodies, that space, and that time, hoping that legal knowledge will be on their side. So overboard the bodies must go. For the cargo may mean more in death than in life in the eyes of the law… Scream. Splash. Silence. Whose body is being made inhuman? Which spaces are really desolation? Whose times are no more? Scream. Splash. Silence. And then the bodies were all gone. And off to the law the ‘humans’ go to claim insurance for the lost cargo made unhuman…. Understanding and disrupting the ways in which Euro- modern legal knowledge forces us into modalities of possession and not relation, means that we recognise that what happened on the Zong was not an aberration, but the logical conclusion of a colonial legal knowledge that underwrites living in possession and domination…as was Amritsar, Sharpeville, the murder of Stephen Lawrence, the Grenfell fire, the killing of George Floyd, the bodies in the waters of the Mediterranean, the fires of the Amazon, and the earth’s perdition in rising waters. Scream. Splash. Silence. Until the bodies are no more.
So, why does the Zong still matter today?

References
Benjamin, Ruha, ed. 2019. Captivating Technology: Race, Carceral Technoscience, and Liberatory Imagination in Everyday Life. Durham, NC: Duke University Press.
Gregson v Gilbert (1783) 3 Doug. KB 232
Krikler, Jeremy. “The Zong and the Lord Chief Justice.” In History Workshop Journal, vol. 64, no. 1, pp. 29-47. Oxford University Press, 2007.
Oyebanji, Adam. Esperance. DAW Books, 2025.
Philip, M. NourbeSe. Zong! Middletown, CT: Wesleyan University Press, 2011.
Walvin, James. The Zong: A Massacre, the Law and the End of Slavery. Yale University Press, 2011.




