Peter Williams Jr. emerged as a pivotal figure in early American history, embodying the roles of a dedicated clergyman, fierce abolitionist, and resolute opponent of the colonization movement that threatened to uproot free African Americans from their homeland. Born around 1780 in New Brunswick, New Jersey—though some records suggest 1786—he entered the world as the son of Peter Williams Sr., a free African American who had served as a veteran in the Revolutionary War, worked as a church sexton and tobacconist, and built a measure of economic stability for his family. His mother, Mary “Molly” Durham, had been an indentured servant from St. Kitts in the Caribbean. The family soon relocated to New York City, a bustling hub of opportunity and oppression for Black residents, where young Peter absorbed the harsh realities of a society still grappling with the legacies of slavery and racial hierarchy.
Despite these challenges, Williams received a formative education at the African Free School, established by the New York Manumission Society to provide literacy and basic instruction to free Black children. He supplemented this with private tutoring from prominent Episcopal figures, including Rev. Thomas Lyell and, later, Rev. John Henry Hobart, who not only mentored him spiritually but also officiated at his wedding. These early influences instilled in him a profound commitment to faith, education, and communal uplift, setting the stage for his lifelong dedication to the African American community.
Williams’s path to the clergy was marked by both perseverance and innovation. In his youth, he joined a group of free Black Episcopalians who attended afternoon services at Trinity Church in Lower Manhattan, a space where they could worship amid the constraints of segregation. By 1808, inspired by his mentors, he took a bold step in organizing St. Philip’s African Church in the city, which became the second Black Episcopal congregation in the United States, following the African Episcopal Church of St. Thomas in Philadelphia. Though initially operating independently, the church gained official recognition from the Episcopal diocese in 1819, a milestone that affirmed Black agency within a predominantly white denomination.
Tragedy struck in 1820 when the wooden structure burned down. Still, Williams, having wisely insured the building, spearheaded its reconstruction as a sturdy brick edifice valued at $10,000—a testament to his foresight and leadership. His own ordination as an Episcopal priest came on July 10, 1826, making him the second African American to achieve this distinction in the nation and the first in New York. Under his guidance, St. Philip’s flourished, drawing influential congregants like James McCune Smith, the pioneering Black physician; Alexander Crummell, an educator and diplomat; Charles L. Reason, the first Black college professor; and George T. Downing, a savvy Black entrepreneur. Williams’s sermons and pastoral work emphasized moral fortitude, self-reliance, and the pursuit of justice, weaving spiritual solace with calls for societal change.
As an abolitionist, Williams channeled his pulpit into a powerful platform for dismantling the chains of slavery, becoming one of the era’s most eloquent voices for emancipation. Even before his ordination, he delivered a stirring oration on January 1, 1808, at the African Church in New York to commemorate the first anniversary of the U.S. ban on the international slave trade. Titled An Oration on the Abolition of the Slave Trade, this address—later published as a pamphlet—stands as one of the earliest known abolitionist writings by a Black author, blending biblical references with poignant critiques of human bondage and pleas for universal freedom. His activism extended far beyond rhetoric; in 1827, he co-founded Freedom’s Journal, the nation’s inaugural newspaper owned and operated by African Americans, which served as a vital organ for disseminating news, editorials, and strategies against oppression.
Williams also played a managerial role in the interracial American Anti-Slavery Society, starting in 1833, as one of six Black leaders appointed to its executive board. There, he advocated for moral suasion, economic empowerment, and education as pathways to equality. Amid the 1829 Cincinnati race riots that displaced hundreds of Black families, he rallied support for their resettlement in Canada, personally helping to fund communities like Wilberforce, Ontario. Through these efforts, Williams not only condemned slavery’s brutality but also envisioned a multiracial America where Black contributions were fully recognized and rewarded.
Williams’s opposition to the American Colonization Society (ACS) further underscored his unwavering conviction in Black belonging on American soil. Emerging in the 1810s, the ACS promoted resettling free African Americans in Liberia, ostensibly as a benevolent solution to racial tensions but often viewed by critics as a veiled effort to preserve white supremacy by exporting Black presence. Williams rejected this outright, arguing in fiery addresses and writings that African Americans were not foreigners in the land of their birth but integral architects of its promise. In a landmark 1830 pamphlet titled A View of the Present State of Slavery in the United States, he excoriated the ACS as a deceptive scheme that ignored the rights of those who had toiled under bondage to build the nation. Instead, he championed emigration to Haiti—the world’s first independent Black republic, forged from the 1791 slave revolt—as a voluntary haven for those seeking autonomy without exile from their roots.
His stance galvanized Black leaders nationwide; in 1830, he helped convene the first national convention of free African Americans in Philadelphia, where delegates debated strategies for resistance, including failed bids to establish a manual training college in New Haven. Williams’s words in “This is Our Country,” delivered amid growing ACS influence, echoed a defiant creed: African Americans deserved justice here, not banishment abroad.
Beyond his public crusades, Williams poured his energies into grassroots initiatives that fortified the social and economic fabric of Black New York. A staunch proponent of education as the cornerstone of liberation, he tutored students at the African Free School, personally financing the studies of promising youth like James McCune Smith, whom he encouraged to study medicine abroad after U.S. institutions barred him. In 1833, amid economic hardships exacerbated by prejudice, Williams founded the Phoenix Society, a mutual aid organization that offered loans, job training, and relief to impoverished Black families, embodying his philosophy of self-help intertwined with collective solidarity. He extended this vision through involvement in the national conventions, pushing for institutions that would nurture Black intellect and enterprise.
Yet, his commitments came at great personal risk. During the vicious three-day New York race riot of July 1834, fueled by economic envy and abolitionist backlash, white mobs targeted St. Philip’s Church on a baseless rumor that Williams had officiated an interracial marriage. The attackers razed the sanctuary, forcing him to seek refuge with Episcopal Bishop Benjamin T. Onderdonk, who—under pressure—demanded his resignation from the Anti-Slavery Society. Though this cost him some community support, Williams’s resilience endured, his work a beacon for those navigating the era’s tempests.
Peter Williams Jr. departed this life in October 1840 in New York City at the age of about 60, survived by his wife and their daughter, Amy Matilda Williams Cassey, who carried forward a legacy of activism through her marriage to Philadelphia financier Joseph Cassey and her own abolitionist endeavors. His passing marked the close of a chapter defined by unswerving faith and fortitude, but his influence rippled outward, shaping the contours of Black religious independence, journalistic empowerment, and civil rights advocacy. By challenging the twin evils of slavery and forced exile, Williams not only elevated his congregation and community but also forged a blueprint for future generations, reminding them that true freedom demanded both prayer and protest in the face of an unforgiving nation.