Sitting in a Cambridge, Mass., movie theater with a friend, I forced myself not to look or shy away from the violent scenes in Steve McQueen’s “12 Years a Slave.” Unlike the gratuitous violence of Mel Gibson’s “The Passion of the Christ” or Quentin Tarantino’s “Django Unchained,” there was nothing over-the-top, nothing selfish about what was painfully depicted on screen in McQueen’s adaptation of the story of Solomon Northup. That is what made it so difficult to watch and why I wanted to look away so badly. The presentation seemed so real.
As the Yale historian David Blight, an expert on American slavery, said in an NPR interview, “We love being the country that freed the slaves, [but] we’re not so fond of being the country that had the biggest slave system on the planet.” Whereas Gibson’s depiction of the Passion was an idiosyncratic reflection of his own personal piety and Tarantino’s slave film was fictive, “12 Years a Slave” offers an indicting narrative that forces its viewers—particularly its white American viewers—to confront a dangerous memory that we would collectively like to forget.
Blight said that the history of American slavery is “a problem in our culture because, to be quite blunt about it, most Americans want their history to be essentially progressive and triumphal, they want it to be a pleasing story. And if you go back to this story, it’s not always going to please you, but it’s a story you have to work through to find your way to something more redemptive.”
The way Blight talked about the importance of McQueen’s film reminded me of the work of the German theology professor Johann Baptist Metz. In his book Faith in History and Society, Father Metz describes two types of memories. The first is the sterilized form of memory, “in which we just do not take the past seriously enough” and recall everything in a soft, glowing light. This type of memory is usually evolutionary or progressive, reflecting a trajectory of history moving toward an increasingly better world. The other type is what Metz calls “dangerous memories, memories that make demands on us.” The latter are what he sees constituting the Christian narrative when we take seriously the life, death and resurrection of Jesus Christ. Metz explains that these dangerous memories “illuminate for a few moments and with a harsh steady light the questionable nature of things we have apparently come to terms with, and show up the banality of our supposed ‘realism.’”
Far too often the history of slavery in the United States is reduced to the sterile, clichéd and comforting former type of memory. The stark reality of slavery and our collective complicity in its perpetuation are reduced to a caricature. Alternatively, we tell a story about the triumphant work of the “liberator-martyr” Abraham Lincoln and the Civil War, which overshadows the complexity of a past marred by the indescribable suffering of generations of persons who have been dehumanized, sold, owned, raped, murdered and destroyed. Many who have the luxury to look away and forget do so. This selective memory silences the oppressed, the victims and the dead. This is a kind of memory that allows the sins of American racism and white privilege to continue today, an unquestioned status quo shielded by our willful ignorance and desire for historical “progress.”
But slavery in this nation is a memory of the latter kind, a dangerous memory. Like the resurrection of Christ, which can never be separated from his life and death, there is something redeeming about calling to mind the suffering caused by American slavery and its continuing effects.
What is redemptive is not the belief that “all is O.K. now.” Rather, the way toward redemption is directed by an awareness that things are far from O.K. What makes the memory of American slavery so dangerous is that in calling to mind the suffering of history’s victims, we begin to see that the suffering continues. Hope is found in the interruption that films like “12 Years a Slave” make in our everyday lives and presumptions. This interruption should shock us into hearing the muted cries of history’s victims (Psalm 34) and recalling that, although we are many parts, we are one body in Christ (1 Cor 12:12).
The body of Christ continues to suffer. The dangerous memory of slavery calls us to take seriously the question: What are you and I going to do about it?
While Fr. Horan’s article was not about the consistency or development of doctrine of Catholic teaching on slavery, Michael Barberi’s comment (aimed not at slavery per se, but at diminishing our confidence in Magisterial Catholic teaching) requires a response, since it follows a long history of distortion on the Church’s long-standing teaching against chattel slavery (the type discussed in the article above) - including Gregory Nyssa anti-slavery writings way back in 365 AD. For those who would like a recent book-length response, I suggest Fr. Joel Panzer’s book The Popes and Slavery.
As to just servitude and unjust slavery, note that slavery has meant different things over six millennia, and included chattel slavery, indentured servitude, serfdom, concubines, prisoners of war, convicts, etc. Even the 13th amendment has an explicit exception (“except as a punishment for crime whereof the party shall have been duly convicted”). So, the historical literature requires careful reading to make the distinctions and understand the definitions.
For an excellent quick read from a non-Christian historian, Rodney Stark’s 2003 article in the Protestant Christianity Today is excellent, and replete with the multiple calls for emancipation and excommunication for the recalcitrant before 1866 (including Popes Eugene IV (1435), Paul III (1537), The Inquisition (1686), Gregory XVI (1839). Stark leads with “Some Catholic writers claim that it was not until 1890 that the Roman Catholic Church repudiated slavery. A British priest has charged that this did not occur until 1965. Nonsense!” http://www.christianitytoday.com/ct/2003/julyweb-only/7-14-53.0.html.
Stark discusses St. Thomas Aquinas’s teaching against slavery and that of many popes. The problem was that Catholic laity did not adhere to the teaching and that an historical bias in Protestant (now secular) circles continues into this century. According to Stark: “The problem wasn't that the leadership was silent. It was that almost nobody listened.” Plus ça change...