A couple of years ago, Polimom and a distant cousin coordinated a genealogy trip to New York State. We spent two solid weeks together, poring over deed books, reading through personal memoirs or business account ledgers, searching for the elusive threads that tie us to our ancestors, and to one another.
Thanks to this family research, I actually have a whole host of cousins, the vast majority of whom I’ve either exchanged correspondence with or spoken with on the phone. We’ve talked about our shared 3X great-grandparents, where they lived, their children, their land, their wills. When we’ve met in person,I’ve bounced babies on my knee, compared pictures, marveled over shared grand-parental facial features and exchanged recipes.
There are, however, a number of things we haven’t talked about, and lately I’ve been pondering those undiscussed subjects.
For instance — I wonder what my cousins think about this:
Two black legislators _ Sen. Henry L. Marsh III and Delegate Donald McEachin _ have proposed that the General Assembly “acknowledge with contrition” the state’s role in slavery. McEachin said an apology would promote healing and ease the sadness felt by many descendants of slaves.
The resolution has yet to be put to a vote. But Delegate Frank Hargrove, the white Republican who spoke out against an apology, said there is no point in issuing one, because no slaves or slave owners are alive today.
Hargrove’s statement is distasteful, myopic, and bigoted, but he’s right that nobody alive was involved in slavery. Does that somehow prove that there’s no point in saying, collectively, “I’m sorry”?
Or is McEachin correct when he says an apology will help ease the pain felt by many black Americans? I honestly don’t know the answer to this. I can’t possibly know.
Perhaps I can claim that since some of my ancestors were slaves, I should be released from responsibility? Or maybe I should expect someone apologize to me for the fact that it took the descendants of my African ancestors six generations to send someone to college, while it took my Swedish family only two?
Or maybe I should just ask one of my cousins… but I can’t figure out how to do that.
Should I say, “Cousin, would an apology for slavery help heal the pain in your heart?”
The problem is that I’m afraid of the answer… or rather, I’m specifically afraid he’ll tell me “Yes“.
What will that say about our relationship? Will that be a judgment on me? And will that mean that he sees me, personally, as responsible for the injustices perpetrated upon his branch of the family?
Sigh…
The truth is that all of those caveats and concerns have nothing whatsoever to do with why there should be an apology. I think the collective American consciousness is sorry… but like Polimom, we’re individually afraid to say so. People want to deflect, or are afraid that an apology will somehow imply personal responsibility, and all this obfuscation and avoidance is making Americans — and particularly white Americans — look petty. Mean-spirited.
There are people who feel that focusing on this country’s historical ills provides a crutch for African Americans — a shelter behind which they can hide their own responsibility for the problems faced by many communities.
Maybe…. but whether black Americans are (or are not) using the country’s history as an excuse doesn’t mean there’s no worth in an apology.
Others are frustrated that “I’m sorry” is merely worthless symbolism, but while it’s certainly true that apologies won’t change history or magically undo generations of disparity, words can transcend the act of articulation.
But they have to be freely given.
America should offer an apology as an acknowledgment of wrongs done… and we should offer it without strings or expectations, but instead, with the hope that those whose hearts might be healed will accept it.
We have an open wound in this country that will not heal — but words have power, and if saying, “We’re sorry” will contribute in any way to the healing process, then America, collectively, should give that apology.