As I write this, Hurricane Florence is flooding the Carolinas. When you read this, she may well be drowning many parts of the area, along with many creatures who will be unable to escape the rising volume of water.
There are times when we simply cannot avoid devastation, and even death—but as (mostly) wealthy first-world people, we stand a much better chance than most.
One of the threads running through the CAC’s recent Conspire 2018 conference was the legacy of slavery. In all honesty, as I said last week, I really didn’t want to attend this conference and face its theme: The Path of Descent is the Path of Transformation. I expected—dare I say assumed—that, because there was a person of color presenting, the issue of slavery would arise. I didn’t want to address my feelings of helplessness about the color of my skin, the actions of my forebears (my paternal ancestors are from the South and did own slaves), and the slow drowning, over the course of my life, of any sense of pride or dignity in my own white heritage. I’m a woman whose husband, Henry, spends much of his retirement digging deeper into his family history and genealogy (and mine), while I remain disconnected from and uninspired by my own.
Perhaps fifteen years ago, I heard a presentation by members of the DeWolf family, whose New England ancestors had been highly successful slave traders. Modern DeWolfs have chosen to research, document, “own,” and publicize that history, creating a film and some books in the process of coming to terms with that history, and seeking transformation—which is still underway, in many respects.
In the course of his own family research, Henry discovered that his ancestors had also been slave traders. They sold a castle in France, Chateau de Grand Puch, to finance their slave trading in the new world. That trade was how some of those ancestors ended up in Puerto Rico, eventually intermarrying with other locals and—ironically, from today’s perspective—thus becoming “people of color” themselves.
Where am I going with all this? Good question. Three things stood out for me from the Conspire presentations around slavery. The first was the fact that scientists have now documented how trauma changes genetics—and that those traumatized genes are passed on to future generations. They form an indelible part of the heritage of enslaved people—what some are now calling Post Traumatic Slave Disorder.
This leads me to wonder many things. How were my ancestors’ genetics changed by their experience of owning, and perhaps abusing, other human beings? How do we make reparations for irreversible genetic damage? Can we, as a culture, move forward from this indelible communal sin? Recent history would seem to indicate that we can’t. Where, then, do I find hope?
The second thing that stood out for me was hearing the legend of Igbo Landing. This is the story of a group of Igbo people (from what is now Nigeria) who were brought as slaves to Georgia in 1803 and, when chained together and taken off the ship, chose to drown themselves in nearby Dawson Creek, singing as they did so, rather than live as slaves.
It is practically impossible for me to imagine choosing death over life—because, frankly, I’ve had a pretty darn good life. But that theme of the conference—the path of descent is the path of transformation—states pretty openly that we need many little deaths in our lives in order to grow and be transformed. Perhaps, sometimes, we also need a big death. Perhaps, sometimes, we have to choose.
Jesus chose. He could have stopped his preaching, retreated to Galilee, and stayed below the radar of the religious leaders he so threatened—but he didn’t. Martin Luther King, Jr., chose. He received plenty of death threats before he was assassinated. He could have stayed quiet—but he didn’t. Oscar Romero, the Salvadoran archbishop who will, next month, be declared a saint by the Roman Catholic Church, chose. He challenged the military leadership in his country to stop abusing the poor. He received death threats, and he could have stayed quiet (as did the rest of his church’s leadership)—but he didn’t.
The third thing that stood out for me was an education on what has been a very popular song over the course of my life: the spiritual “Wade in the Water.” I was taught, growing up, that it was about the Israelites crossing the Red Sea to escape slavery. That is its surface meaning. For the African American slaves, however, it had multiple additional meanings. Slaves who chose the possibility of a big death, by attempting to escape their slavery by heading north to Canada, would wade in the water as often as they could because their scent would then be lost by the dogs who were tracking them.
Another wading took place for many at the Ohio River, on the route of the Underground Railroad. That river formed the boundary between slave and free states. (Slaves were still in danger north of the river because of fugitive slave laws, but their chances of success increased once they crossed.)
Finally, there was that legend of Igbo Landing—and understanding that wading in the water, in order to intentionally drown, could be the best choice available.
For slaves, water had immense power. Perhaps even more power than Hurricane Florence.
So where do I find hope? Henry has given me some. A Quaker branch of my mother’s family (it was literally brother against brother) moved from North Carolina to Indiana specifically to “flee the institution of slavery.” They became instrumental in the Underground Railroad. I recently learned that 60 percent of slaves who set off on that “underground” journey toward freedom didn’t make it—but that does mean 40 percent did.
I could go on, but this is more than enough. As usual, I end with some questions: What does this raise for you? What little deaths do you avoid or resist? What bigger deaths dwell in your heritage and your genes?
Trauma and water play major themes in my life, also. So much is raised here, it’s difficult to know what to say. And I am unfamiliar with this forum, so my words may not be framed for this audience. If so, I deeply apologize.
Regarding the ocean, when we who have been abused feel the waves’ power to cleanse and reform us, literally, it is a physical experiencing of what spiritual cleansing is. And it helps, because the Death we so closely feel reaching out has hardened us, blinding us to our needs and from seeing the destructive patterns in our lives. I best relate to my pattern as a sea anemone: I want so desperately to open and share, spreading love to all, extending my fronds vulnerably but beautifully. I see no reason to hold back – wasn’t this why I was born? Isn’t this who I am meant to be?!? But my arms seem to entangle and ensnare others at times, or I feel bound and tied down by too many ties and responsibilities (the incessant need to sacrifice). And any unfamiliar or misunderstood contact causes an immediate closing up, cutting off all my connections and light, so that I am trapped forever in my pain and tightly bound, blinded by darkness, and all others see is an absence – just a dull rock sitting off to the side, with no hint of my pain or need showing. Because none of my beautiful color is seen, with none of its attendant torment, rage and pain. Or that this loss of contact and immersion into pain and feeling of imprisonment now seems to demand some expression in reality, i.e., Death. Either by Suicide or some permanent loss of connection in my life.
And even though I was raised Christian, it was with a heavy previously-traumatized hand, along with emotional abandonment and sexual abuse, so that it all conspired to be arranged poorly in my mind. I separated from God when I was 13 and when I returned, an impossible Voice of Judgement born of my incessant cry for Righteousness, abused me over the years so that I have finally stepped completely away from my faith altogether in an attempt to heal. (And I was a Catholic religious instructor!) I had to completely release my fear of death and any concern of what happens eternally. My life here on this earth is what I have to stay focused on. And yes, I know well of the saving power of Jesus, but even he could not release me from this curse. This is of my own making.
I share these things with you because I too, have been concerned about the lasting effects of trauma. I was born not poor in spirit nor meek and I vowed to change this cycle of abuse. I removed myself from it, thereby stopping its continuation and releasing my abusers from their misguided paths. I was able to love the children we were blessed with in the ways I so desperately wanted to, but other problems I hadn’t anticipated, nor was prepared for, arose.
We’ve searched for many helpers and healers along the way, and we have healed as a family and as a husband and wife. My journey has been filled with healings, over and over, and I have faith that in this struggle, I shall be healed, too. I know not in what way. My journey has taught me mercy and the need for vast understanding, compassion and kindness, acceptance beyond measure and unconditional love, with no reserved judgement. No internal or unexpressed criticisms, which inevitably wound and separate. All such arise from our privileges, because our lack of need then blinds us to others’ needs.
Trauma and abuse are passed down in families and cultures. Expressed in genes and familiar patterns. I am so blessed to see in my lifetime the understanding the role genetics play, and that we have the power to change our genes, that too is now also known. The stories we pass down and share, to ourselves, in families, in cultures and religions, all give us the power to shape our bodies, our minds and our lives; we fit ourselves and our patterns to these stories.
What story do we tell now of the ocean the slaves were forced to endure passing through as we uprooted them from their home and never replaced it with a loving one? These were children kidnapped and stolen from their homes and land, treated in abominable ways, then released with no structure to recover in, vulnerable in their weakness.
The pride of our nation was built in great part upon their backs, and their abysmal lives. Just because my ancestors were part of the western migration does not cover my white skin. Either by excuse or action. I applaud and am honored by your courage and honesty, your ability to look at these issues, Shirin. When I toured the African American History museum in our capital, I had to ask myself, what motivated my ancestors to leave? What was the great push West about? For surely it arose from much more than exploration. It is clear the Civil War gave whites across the nation a great wound, but also a great sense of relief. Of OK, now we took care of this.
But for blacks? What have they had, except abuses ever since? The sense of arrogant pride in being white has outed itself in all 7 generations since. Yes, the sins of our fathers have been carried down 7 generations. Perhaps it is time for them to finally end?
Ah, Tina, thank you, thank you for your deep and honest and vulnerable sharing in response to my post! I am honored that you would engage with this topic and issue so deeply.
Thank you for your honesty about Christianity’s shortcomings and the detrimental role it has played in your life. Jesus didn’t set out to start a religion, but rather to reform his own. I think he would indeed say that the one we founded in his name is in dire need of reform, on multiple levels. On behalf of so many faithful Christians, I apologize on behalf of an institution that has not treated you kindly and with respect. I do pray that you have found your way to some sort of connection with healing power in some form…as you have indicated, it seems that through family and professionals, some progress has been made.
And for those days when your anemone self (what a gorgeous and apt image! Here are a few for you: https://www.instagram.com/p/BkAZ1_5AGE8/?taken-by=shirinmcarthur) feels closed in and trapped, I hope that you can remember it is not forever. We all need to protect ourselves at points in our lives; there is no harm or shame in that…. I’m glad that the image of the ocean is helpful for you.
And yes, thanks be to God that we have learned we can change our genes for good as well as for ill! Thank you for that reminder…. I pray that your genes may continue to brighten and glow with new color–perhaps even on the outside…. I pray that all who have been abused will find compassion and kindness, and even love, so that step by step, generation by generation, we reverse that harm, to ourselves, our families, our planet…it is a tall order, and we can only do it one day at a time. Congratulations for having taken such powerful and concrete steps to change your own family’s trajectory!
Thank you again for all you have shared. I hope that the writing of it was helpful for your spirit. I acknowledge your pain and hold it in the Light…may you find peace this day….
Shirin