A Dangerous Topic (and a Disclaimer)
Whenever I'm working diligently on a post — as I've been doing recently with my first essay on the state (and quality) of politics and government in America — my internal search engine continues to log acute issues of the day. Issues I want to blog on later, or at least reference in my ongoing analysis of humanity. I try not to become fully engrossed in these topics for fear of straying too far from (and losing continuity with) the core ideas of my current piece. Over the past two weeks, however, I became captivated by a political story of a different — and extremely potent — nature: slavery.Now, before I dive into this one — a topic that's surely wince-worthy — I want to explain to my readers why I'm tackling it at all. Slavery, (or any of the associated racial issues that flow out of it), isn't a topic many people like to talk about in a public forum. It almost guarantees misunderstanding, anger, charges of racism, counter-charges of racial opportunism. It's a topic that screams "hand off!", and dares you to speak about it in any kind of analytical terms. It's etched into the American experience, yet is a topic we can't often be honest about, except in private, single-race/single-socio-economic groups. People steer clear because they're honestly afraid of how their opinions will be perceived, as if any critical analysis is tantamount to a pro-slavery, pro-racism stance. If you've read my first post, you know that I don't count myself among those people. I'm not afraid to speak about difficult concepts. I'm not afraid to challenge a belief because its parent topic is charged or dangerous. In fact, as many of my readers already know, I think these are exactly the type of issues we need to discuss. It's imperative that we discuss them. I know people will be offended, no matter what my actual intent, but I refuse to be a man held at bay by fear of public outcry. I believe that sharing our ideas is one of the most potent things we can do. That's why I'm blogging about slavery.
Now here comes the disclaimer: I understand.
I know that doesn't sound like a conventional disclaimer, but it's accurate. I grew up at the feet of a progressive mother who was absolutely outspoken about the needs for racial (and sexual) equality. My education in these subjects was thorough and robust, and it left no gray area — nothing to debate. Slavery was an absolute wrong. So was racism. So was any form of discrimination, or disapproval of someone for reasons other than how he or she behaved. I learned that I was no better (or worse) than anyone else — at least not out of the gate. This education served as one of my first moments of clarity — an early step on a road to enlightenment I'm still trying to walk.
In other words, I understand why it's wrong to be a racist, and I understand why anything growing out of racism is wrong. I get it. That's why I've included this "concept-specific" autobiography. As I write these words, I want you to know that I'm absent the beliefs that made slavery possible. So you can write me off as pretentious, or glib, or insensitive, but know that I believe as strongly in equality as I do the need to talk about difficult concepts.
One more thing — an extra disclaimer, if you will. Inasmuch as I feel a need to blog this topic, I accept that the onus is on me to deal respectfully with the issue; to underestimate its power, is to risk injury to those most affected by it. My words may be hard to chew, but there's no malice in them, no veiled hatred, no implied disrespect. They're just my attempt to explore this topic in a meaningful way, without causing harm to anyone. It's a difficult task, even on a good day. That said, I'm throwing my hat into the ring. I hope some of you will join me there.
Thus endeth the disclaimer.
The Apology
So what was the story that started this whole thing? Two weeks ago, CNN posted a news story on slavery. Here's the first line:"The House of Representatives on Tuesday passed a resolution apologizing to African-Americans for slavery and the era of Jim Crow."
If you're even modestly educated, you can probably catch the drift of the story without reading it yourself. It's exactly what you'd expect: a bunch of (mostly) white politicians, apologizing — on record — for the sins of our fathers (and forefathers). They condemn slavery, and vow to eradicate the tangible vestiges of it that continue to confound the African-American community. All in all, a rousing, passionate, and positive act; a gesture that portends — even promises — peace and racial harmony in our time. It should have made me proud, right? It didn't. It left me stunned, and even a little angry. I stared at the article, and mouthed the only thing that came to mind:
Why are we apologizing for slavery?
It's a powerful question, isn't it? It's dangerous. It smacks of racism, even though it's straightforward, reasonable, and linguistically neutral. It's reasonable. Yet, it's a question people just don't seem to ask. As if they've been robbed of the right to ask. As if asking would become an instant stain on them. For the briefest moment, I forgot myself and fell into that trap: I felt ashamed for asking. I was actually tempted to scold myself, and never speak of my knee-jerk reaction to anyone. Then I remembered myself.
There's no shame in asking a question — even a difficult one. If you read this blog, you know I hold that as a core belief. I even mentioned it again in my prologue. Asking questions is the only way to start a substantive dialogue, and the biggest gateway to understanding. This question — instead of being an outpouring of insensitivity or some hidden inner prejudice — was a prelude to critical analysis. An invitation to explore myself and those around me, and a way to forge a useful public dialogue. By the end of that day, I had shared the article with a dozen people.
What's Wrong with an Apology?
An amazing thing happened as I gathered reactions to the apology: I discovered that I wasn't unique. Everyone I talked to had a similar reaction: irritation and disbelief, verbalized in minor variations of "Why? What for? It's 2008!" and followed by some form of:"My family never owned slaves."
"All the people who owned slaves are dead."
"All the slaves, and all their children, and all their children's children are dead."
"My family wasn't even in America then."
"The Africans were sold into slavery by their own."
"It was 150 years ago: isn't it about time it stopped being an excuse?"
What's more, I realized that I wasn't on new ground: I'd been seeing those reactions my whole life. Every discussion of apologies for slavery, or reparations, or how the need for affirmative action grew out of slavery-borne injustice, had evoked similar variations of these responses. I'm not going to opine on the validity or invalidity of any of them. When it comes to an issue like this — or any polarizing, radicalizing, hate-inspiring topic — logic, rationality, and even truth can take a beating. It doesn't matter if those statements are a hundred percent true; they can't stand up against the classic block of the "racist" label. The issue has inertia that instantly invalidates them, by which I mean, squashes them without critical response or refutal. In the final analysis, they're just insufficient.
But, it turns out that none of those "responses" were components of my knee-jerk reaction. I realized that my reaction — my objection — was borne of history.
Slavery vs. Racism: The Real Issue
Like most Americans, I've been witness to racial disparity and strife for most of my life. I've listened to heated racial debates, and seen the fallout in my community, country, and world. I've heard from people of all colors, and from all corners of my life, and had friends who were seemingly stymied by their race, instead of merely footnoted by it. I've let the media pour their ideas into and over me, and read history books that are often cited as seminal works on race issues. I've been affected by all of it. And I've been driven to learn even more than what my mother taught me. As a result, I now know a lot about slavery, and about the Jim Crow laws. I understand the damage white America caused to black America, and know that there are still undressed wounds. But none of that comes close to showing slavery and it's now dead offspring laws as tangible problems of the current day.No. In the end, talk of slavery in America today is mostly a distraction: as long as we're engaged in passionate discussions and apologies about an institution that's now absent from the American landscape, we have no drive to tackle the core issue. The one that allowed slavery to rise. The one that remains 150 years after the Emancipation Proclamation. The one that helped create and sustain Jim Crow laws for nearly a hundred years. The one that's really to blame for the discrimination felt by African-Americans in 2008: racism.
Let me clarify this: Racism is a problem for today. Slavery isn't.
Don't believe me? Look around.
Racism still practically courses through the hearts of many Americans: its effects are in evidence in too many communities, reported on too many news shows, and are still a tangible negative force in the lives of many African-Americans. I'm sad to say that it's almost inescapable. But there are no slaves in America. It's a fact that's pretty easy to check, even if there are some interesting attempts to prove otherwise. (There are anthropologists, politicians, scholars, and activists who talk about political or socio-economic slavery; who cleverly use media statistics, censuses, and the hard feelings of those affected by hatred to prove a de facto state of slavery. And, of course, there are many self-appointed experts -- read: wags; contrarians — who will point to a news article about some unfortunate soul chained in a basement for 12 years, and cite that as proof that my assertion is wrong. Fortunately, de facto anything is usually nothing, and the middle-income monster who imprisons his housekeeper isn't proof of institutional slavery — which is what we're really discussing.)
And unlike the institutions of slavery, which can be dismantled through legislation, racism is borne of the intangible. Legislation can't dismantle prejudice. Legislation can't assuage the primal fears, feelings of superiority, and rampant misunderstandings that fuel racist beliefs. Legislation is not a cure-all. In fact, in the case Jim Crow, legislation actually made matters worse. Despite emancipation, racism remained largely unchecked after the Civil War. It seeped quickly back into the halls of power, and turned the legislative mechanisms that had stopped slavery into new tools for institutional prejudice. It created a framework for segregation and abuse that lasted nearly a hundred years.
But again, how are slavery or Jim Crow actually relevant today? They're important points of history, to be sure — and people still point at their fading echoes as proof that they haven't really become history — but are they true drivers for change? Can we defeat racism when we only see it in the rearview mirror, and if we only color it as a legacy of slavery, instead of a precursor? Let's go back to what started this: The apology, and why I objected to it.
Slavery's End: Count the Heroes, Count the Dead
A long time ago, white Americans embraced slavery as a good and proper thing. (For the record, they were part of a much larger club. Nations the world over embraced it just as eagerly, and just as brutally. Truly, it was never just an American problem...) It was good business. It was commerce. It was the natural order. It was a mandate from God. And it had staying power. Nobody seemed to realize that it was also an abomination.Then came men like Abraham Lincoln.
Now, I'm not going to point to Lincoln as if he was the first white person to step out of line on the issue of slavery. In fact, according to some historians, Lincoln was late to the party, and inconsistent in his condemnations. Other historians have even suggested that his objections weren't organic, but a savvy political reflection of some of the growing Northern social consciousness. In any case, Lincoln is still a good example; his fame casts him as an archetype for all the whites who stood against the institution of slavery. Those people are at the core of my objection.
Slavery didn't end by accident. Slavery wasn't dissolved by apathy. It didn't just wither away and die of old age, or fade into oblivion like some absurd fad. Slavery went down hard, under the weight of war and blood and sacrifice. Good white men surrendered themselves to dust so that black America could be free. And I'm not just talking about the Civil War. I'm talking about the ongoing struggle of race in America: the one where white Americans for more than a hundred years continued to tear down the walls of institutional prejudice; the one where white presidents and legislators fought (sometimes even against their own parties and constituencies) to dismantle voting prohibitions, segregated schools, and discriminatory hiring practices; the one where white teenagers faced off against hate groups in the deep south because they believed in equality; the one where white politicians and public officials tore down Jim Crow laws, and continue to stand vigilant against the ongoing ripples of racism I alluded to above.
I'm talking about heroes in the epic struggle of race in America. The people who are all but forgotten every time someone musters a new apology for slavery, or suggests that white America hasn't really made amends.
You see, it's not that I object to the apology — it turns out I don't. Apologies are good. Apologies are important. Apologies reveal our commitment to repent and repair. I object to the marginalization of our historic struggle to make things right. I object to the notion that the countless sacrifices of our fathers and forefathers aren't even a down payment on this debt. I object to the fact that no attention is paid to the heroes and the dead.
Conclusion
In closing, I can't help but wonder if I've achieved anything here. I've added my 2,500 words to the public record, and possibly spawned some new discourse, but I still can't answer the fundamental questions. I don't know why 150 years of renunciation, pain, and penance doesn't count for an apology. Or how we can disregard the told (and untold) sacrifices that finally stripped slavery out of the American superstructure. I don't know why we're so focused on that long dead institution, that we let it obscure the real issues of the day, and propagate the idea that its parent prejudice was actually its child and heir. And I don't know how any of that leads to a racism-free tomorrow.In my research, I found many quotes from prominent African-Americans who believe that this apology, however symbolic, has healing power; that this late tenth-party gesture is a potent salve for their entire race. I honestly hope they're right, even as I wonder why they believe it, and why they've been waiting for it — and why they don't seem to remember the heroes and the dead.
If they are right, then maybe this apology will be the last apology. Maybe with it said and done, we'll finally be able to focus on racism in the 21st century. After all, isn't that the real burden for today?
