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I recently visited Fort Pickens, which is located on the west end of a barrier island west of Pensacola Beach. The fort was built in the 1830s, lightly used during the Civil War (mostly by the union forces), recommissioned during WWII, and it has largely been a tourist area since that war. It was a fascinating place to explore, and I found myself reading many of the historical plaques scattered around the fort. Two of them jumped out at me.
First, there was a plaque noting the fact that most of the original fort had been built using slave labor. Once again, we have an example of a major project made possible by the stolen labor of human beings in bondage. Many of those slaves possessed some of the skills the Florida government, shamefully, insists needs to be reported in textbooks as a “benefit of slavery.”
Second, there was the plaque that described the fate of Geronimo, including pictures of both him and the Native Americans imprisoned with him at Fort Pickens for over a year. Geronimo, it seems, never saw his homeland again after his capture and imprisonment. As I looked at the picture of him sitting with his compatriots, I found myself wondering what was going through his mind as the picture was taken.
I also found myself feeling a sense of profound shame. I reflected on that a bit, and two things emerged for me.
First, the shame I was feeling was not personal shame. I did not enslave black people and I did not imprison Geronimo or treat all of his people so badly. Indeed, I have used some of my life and resources to try to reverse at least some of the ongoing effects of those historical acts, as minor as those efforts might have been. The shame I was feeling can only be described as “national shame.” You see, I am a citizen of the United States of America. The United States of America is not merely a chunk of land. If there were no people, there would be no “United States of America.” It takes sentient beings to create nations and establish national boundaries. That makes the United States a living thing. It was conceived when the first European settlers established a colony on this soil, birthed when those settlers and their progeny decided to separate from England and went to war for that right, and has been in existence continuously since that time.
As a member of that living organism, I share in the national shame that arises from any shameful act perpetrated by that organism, past or present. I also share in the responsibility to make right, as much as is possible, the lingering injustices that flow from those events.
Second, I found myself reflecting on shame and pride. You see, it is not possible to consistently claim one without the other. If it is okay to look at the past and present actions of the United States and take pride in them, then it is also necessary to look at the past and present actions of the United States and be ashamed of those that were (or are) simply wrong. We cannot justly claim pride in the Greatest Generation, the first Moon Landing, the role the United States played in WWI and WWII, the struggle to free ourselves from England, the leaps of invention, and all of the other things we feel pride about and ignore the slaves our laws enabled, the 3/5ths clause of our constitution, the treatment of Native Americans over the years, Japanese internment camps, the Chinese Exclusion Act, the exclusion of women from the vote, and all of the other things about America that are blots on our national history.
A just society looks at everything, delighting in the good while acknowledging and owning the bad. As with individuals, I believe a nation should be looking at that past to do two things: own what needs to be owned and make any appropriate restitution, and learn from it so that the ill is never repeated again.
Just as the good this nation has done (and is doing) can never be taken from us and will always be a source of national pride, so too the ill we have done can never be taken from us and will always be a source of national shame. We have, in many instances, risen to the call of our better angels. We have also, in many instances, acted out of the darkest places of the human person.
A true understanding of our national identity accepts and acknowledges both.
First, there was a plaque noting the fact that most of the original fort had been built using slave labor. Once again, we have an example of a major project made possible by the stolen labor of human beings in bondage. Many of those slaves possessed some of the skills the Florida government, shamefully, insists needs to be reported in textbooks as a “benefit of slavery.”
Second, there was the plaque that described the fate of Geronimo, including pictures of both him and the Native Americans imprisoned with him at Fort Pickens for over a year. Geronimo, it seems, never saw his homeland again after his capture and imprisonment. As I looked at the picture of him sitting with his compatriots, I found myself wondering what was going through his mind as the picture was taken.
I also found myself feeling a sense of profound shame. I reflected on that a bit, and two things emerged for me.
First, the shame I was feeling was not personal shame. I did not enslave black people and I did not imprison Geronimo or treat all of his people so badly. Indeed, I have used some of my life and resources to try to reverse at least some of the ongoing effects of those historical acts, as minor as those efforts might have been. The shame I was feeling can only be described as “national shame.” You see, I am a citizen of the United States of America. The United States of America is not merely a chunk of land. If there were no people, there would be no “United States of America.” It takes sentient beings to create nations and establish national boundaries. That makes the United States a living thing. It was conceived when the first European settlers established a colony on this soil, birthed when those settlers and their progeny decided to separate from England and went to war for that right, and has been in existence continuously since that time.
As a member of that living organism, I share in the national shame that arises from any shameful act perpetrated by that organism, past or present. I also share in the responsibility to make right, as much as is possible, the lingering injustices that flow from those events.
Second, I found myself reflecting on shame and pride. You see, it is not possible to consistently claim one without the other. If it is okay to look at the past and present actions of the United States and take pride in them, then it is also necessary to look at the past and present actions of the United States and be ashamed of those that were (or are) simply wrong. We cannot justly claim pride in the Greatest Generation, the first Moon Landing, the role the United States played in WWI and WWII, the struggle to free ourselves from England, the leaps of invention, and all of the other things we feel pride about and ignore the slaves our laws enabled, the 3/5ths clause of our constitution, the treatment of Native Americans over the years, Japanese internment camps, the Chinese Exclusion Act, the exclusion of women from the vote, and all of the other things about America that are blots on our national history.
A just society looks at everything, delighting in the good while acknowledging and owning the bad. As with individuals, I believe a nation should be looking at that past to do two things: own what needs to be owned and make any appropriate restitution, and learn from it so that the ill is never repeated again.
Just as the good this nation has done (and is doing) can never be taken from us and will always be a source of national pride, so too the ill we have done can never be taken from us and will always be a source of national shame. We have, in many instances, risen to the call of our better angels. We have also, in many instances, acted out of the darkest places of the human person.
A true understanding of our national identity accepts and acknowledges both.
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