PHIPPSBURG

More than 100 years ago, a dark cloud settled over a small island off the coast of Phippsburg. In an act that was deemed economic but with clear racist undertones, a small village of mixed race Maine citizens were banished from Malaga Island by the Maine government. During a time of civil unrest and bigotry, Malaga served as an escape from the hard truths of the mainland, a utopia where folks could be themselves, judgment free. But, like most utopian dreams, it didn’t last.

Settlement of Malaga Island dates back to the mid-1860s, when Henry Griffin, his wife Fatima Darling Griffin and their children took the short dinghy ride out to the 42-acre island from the mainland, where Anna’s Water’s Edge restaurant sits at present day.

“They went to the island because it was empty,” said Kate McBrien of Maine Preservation and curator of Maine State Museum’s “Malaga Island, Fragmented Lives,” which was on display in Augusta in 2012, marking the centennial of the expulsion. “Islands were not that desirable back then, especially small scruffy ones like Malaga. There were no trees, the soil wasn’t very deep, and the weather was tough.”

But there was a stark reason that the Griffins settled on Malaga to begin a trend of sheep farmers, fishermen and carpenters.

“They were an interracial family,” said McBrien. “And that was unusual for the time. It was illegal in a lot of states. It was legal in Maine, but looked down upon.”

The Griffins built a house on Malaga Island, and soon their relatives and other black, white and mixed-race families followed suit. At its height, Malaga was home to 45 permanent residents. Most folks would return to the mainland to work, but living on the island gave them a reprieve from socioeconomic norms.

“The island was nice because it allowed them to be close (to the mainland) but also have their own space,” said McBrien. “But everybody else knew about it.”

In 1898, the town of Phippsburg tried to separate itself from Malaga. The islanders were poor and, according to McBrien, the town didn’t want to pay for them.

“They tried to get the state to move the island to Harpswell, but the state said ‘no way,’” said McBrien.

After that, the state kept a close eye on Malaga. Others did as well, including Christian missionary Capt. George Lane from Massachusetts. In 1906, Lane set out to build a permanent schoolhouse on the island, as well as provide extra clothing and food to its residents.

“He spread the word (about Malaga) and started raising money in Portland,” said McBrien.

Although Lane’s efforts were gracious, they had a negative outcome.

“Newspapers and photographers started going to the island,” McBrien said. “Articles were written about the islanders. Post cards were found as far west as Utah.”

Yellow journalism— a tactic that uses exaggeration and hyperbole to increase sales — was at its height in the early 20th century, and the depiction of Malaga and its mixed race inhabitants were anything but accurate.

“One title read ‘Queer Folk of the Maine Coast,’” said McBrien. “Others talked of ‘degenerates’ living on Malaga, and kids being born with horns and living underground. They described their houses as dirt shacks with no heat.”

To make matters worse, that depiction came during the rise of the eugenics movement, which championed reproducing desired human traits and phasing out the undesirable. The Maine government was, at the time, strong supporters of eugenics.

“The idea was that if blacks and whites chose to live together, something was wrong with their genes,” said McBrien. “They were looked at as criminals and alcoholics. The eugenics movement is where you get terms like ‘imbecile’ or ‘moron.’”

In July of 1911, then-Gov. Fredrick W. Plaisted visited the island and issued an eviction notice for all 45 residents.

“He thought the whole community should be destroyed and burnt down. He gave everyone until July of 1912 to be out.”

The people of Malaga Island were given $100 by the government, but no housing. Most moved to the nearby Sebasco neighborhood of Phippsburg, and some went to Cundy’s Harbor. The Tripp family moved onto their boat and sailed around the Maine coast for a year and half until Mrs. Tripp died of exposure. Mr. Tripp put the kids up in a foster home and was never heard from again.

One family, however, received the lowest treatment of all.

“The Marks family was put on a train and sent to Pownal, and forcibly committed to The School for the Feebleminded,” said McBrien. An executive of Gov. Plaisted’s signed their committal papers.

All but two of the seven Marks family members lived out their days at the school.

When officials returned to Malaga in July of 1912, they found nothing but abandoned foundations. The islanders had dismantled and removed the houses themselves. To finish the job, Plaisted had 17 bodies buried on the island disinterred and re-buried at the School for the Feebleminded.

The settlement of Malaga Island had been erased.

“The town and the state were really embarrassed about the whole thing, so they just kind of buried it,” said McBrien. “Part of eugenics is that if a family is deemed ‘feeble-minded,’ anyone associated with them is deemed feeble-minded as well.”

McBrien said she found an article from the 1930s that read “no wonder this is a story Maine wants to forget.”

“A lot of people in Phippsburg used the term ‘Malagite’ as a slur when referring to anyone associated with the island,” said McBrien.

For decades, the Malaga Island incident remained obscure. Then in 2002, Professors Robert Sanford and Nathan Hamilton of the University of Southern Maine began an archeological dig of the Malaga site that lasted until 2008. They donated many items to the Maine State Museum, which were eventually used in McBrien’s 2012 exhibit.

“We found 46,000 artifacts,” said Sanford, who continues to sift through material excavated on the island to this day. “Broken bottles, smoking pipes, fish hooks. What we determined was that these people were living similar lives to those on the mainland.”

Sanford noted how well preserved Malaga Island was compared to most island sites.

“I think the lobstermen protected it,” said Sanford. “They fish really close to Malaga. That reduced the trespassing.”

As the Maine State Museum gathered artifacts and prepared their exhibit, the Maine government caught wind, and this time, 100 years after Plaisted’s scourge, attempted to make things right.

“Gov. (John) Baldacci went out to the island in 2010 and issued a formal apology in front of 200 Malaga descendants,” said McBrien. “Then at our exhibit opening in 2012, Gov. (Paul) LePage issued his own apology. He promised to make a scholarship fund for the descendants.”

LePage was true to his word, and the Malaga 1912 Fund was put into the Maine state budget less than a year later.

“The fund helps bring things full circle,” said McBrien. “But I think in New England and especially Maine we have very little sense of black history. Most people think that we were all abolitionists, but when you look back at the history of Malaga Island, that’s not true.”

Malaga Island is protected by the Maine Coast Heritage Trust, and remains empty to this day. But the history there is palpable; a reminder of past mistakes, a lesson for the future.