American Slavery, American Freedom: The Ordeal of Colonial Virginia by Edmund S. Morgan.

I recently reread this book, originally published in 1975 by the late Edmund S. Morgan. The tome was upheld as a classic when I was in grad school (I bet it’s still held in high esteem). Initially, Morgan’s book sets out to explain a familiar paradox in American history: how could it be that during the Revolution, slaveholding Virginians fought for the ideals of liberty and freedom, ideals that were at odds with their own way of life? The answer, as you might guess, is dismally straightforward: most of the Virginian revolutionaries simply did not consider Black, enslaved individuals worth including in their understanding of “we, the people.” Morgan does not leave off the analysis at this, however. He instead goes a further step and questions why racism arose in Virginia in the first place. The origins of racism end up being the actual focus of his book. I’ll try to summarize his argument—if you’re a Morgan fan, please forgive any oversights as I boil down a 300+ page work of nonfiction into a few paragraphs!

To get at the roots of racism’s historical development, Morgan starts his story at the very beginnings of Virginia. When English settlers founded Virginia in 1607, their initial idea was that the colony would act as a check against any northward expansion of the Spanish Empire. As it turned out, though, the Spanish were not really all that interested in the Atlantic coast north of Florida. The English quickly repurposed Virginia to be a cash crop producing colony, and throughout most of the seventeenth century, Virginia was a place where Englishmen of means could go, plant tobacco, and make some money for themselves along with tax revenue to the Crown. (I guess governments have always been taxing tobacco).

To work the tobacco fields these English gentlemen needed laborers. For the first three quarters of the seventeenth century, workers came to Virginia mostly in the form of indentured servants from England. It is true that planters purchased enslaved Black workers from Africa throughout this period—but such laborers were in the minority of the workforce at first.

When a servant came over to Virginia from England, he or she usually did not pay their own way. Rather, they paid their cost of transportation in the form of their labor to the planter for a term that was typically seven years long. It appears that those seven years were hellish. Planters barely fed their workers, they dressed them in rags, and they whipped them. Nevertheless, poor folk from England kept coming over to Virginia because if you could survive your term of service there, the colony granted you fifty acres of land for your own. There was no way you could acquire anything similar in England.

But you had to survive. Until the 1650s, Virginia was more or less a death trap, according to Morgan. Disease, food insecurity, and wars with Native Americans kept English Virginian mortality rates horrifically high. Starting around the 1650s, however, non-native Virginians started to live longer for various reasons I won’t get into here. The point is that more and more servants made it through their terms of service and claimed their fifty acres in the Virginian backcountry.

So at the start of the third quarter of the seventeenth century Virginia was, in Morgan’s words, a “volatile society.” Former indentured servants—who had no love for their former employers—kept claiming their fifty acres only to find that the economic independence for which they had suffered still eluded them. They could grow their own tobacco, sure, but how could they get their harvest to market? Most of the land by the coast where the ships from England came in had long ago been purchased by wealthier planters. Poor, formerly indentured farmers ended up selling their crop to their former masters for prices that did not please them at all. The American dream, if you will, wasn’t working for a lot of Virginians in the 1670s. And then along came Nathaniel Bacon.

Bacon was not a poor man, but he was an outsider to the Virginia elite. He lived closer to the inland fringes of the colony where the poorer, formerly indentured farmers resided, and he shared their concerns. English settlers on the frontier of the colony were more vulnerable to attacks from Native American warriors than were the established, wealthier planters who lived closer to the coast. Bacon and his neighbors wished that the Virginian government would protect backcountry folk by means of preemptive violence against neighboring native nations. The Virginian government, for its part, sought to work through diplomatic channels, which did not suit the mood of most backcountry settlers. Bacon and his neighbors felt that their plight was not taken seriously by the government.

And so a large group of impoverished, land-owning, gun-toting farmers who resented a government that they perceived as oblivious to their predicament found their leader in Bacon. In the mid-1670s, Bacon gathered around him an armed militia and overthrew the Virginian government. He died from illness shortly afterward, however, and soon enough England intervened and restored order.

After Bacon’s Rebellion, Virginian planters soured on the notion of bringing more servants over from England to work the tobacco fields. From their point of view, the indentured servants of today only become the rebellious backcountry malcontents of tomorrow. Instead of English laborers, planters brought more and more enslaved Africans into the colony.

As planters bought more slaves, Virginian lawmakers changed the rules of the colony to ensure that people of African extraction or descent were trapped into a subordinate status marked by the color of their skin. In doing so, these new laws created a new way for Virginians to categorize themselves. Prior to Bacon’s Rebellion, English Virginians typically saw the world through the binary of “Christian or heathen:” the English and other Europeans were in the Christian category, the Native Americans and people from Africa were in the heathen category. After Bacon’s Rebellion, however, the language of laws changed. A law from 1680 prescribed thirty lashes of the whip upon any “negroe or other slave” who presumed “to lift up his hand in opposition against any christian” (pg. 331, seventeenth century spelling and capitalization). Now “negro” has come to be the opposite “Christian” in Virginian law. This legal distinction continued in a 1682 law that stipulated that all non-Christian servants who were brought into Virginia from elsewhere were to remain slaves for life. A law from the 1660s had already stipulated that an enslaved person who converted to Christianity was not eligible for emancipation. Since only Africans or Native people would be “non-Christian” servants in the first place, the actual effect of the 1682 was to align skin color, rather than religion, with involuntary servitude. By the end of the century, the transformation was complete and “white” came to be the opposing category to “negro.” A 1691 law forbade sexual activity between “negroes, mulatoes, and Indians” with “English, or other white women” (pg. 335). The act stipulated that any child a white woman had by a non-white man would be a servant until he or she turned thirty. That same year, Virginia passed a law mandating that all masters who emancipated their slaves pay for their former slaves’ transportation out of the colony.

Virginian lawmakers took an already existing institution—slavery—and rebuilt society around that institution through by making racial identity a legal reality. By the start of the eighteenth century, enslaved Africans were no longer the curious exception in a labor force largely composed of indentured English servants. Rather, Virginian society was one in which darker skin signaled servitude and otherness and pale skin signaled freedom and privilege.

The new, post-Bacon, racialized society worked well for Virginia’s wealthy planters. To explain why, I can put it in no better words than Morgan himself: “the small planter’s small stake in human property placed him on the same side of the fence as the large man, whom he regularly elected to protect his interests. Virginia’s small farmers could perceive a common identity with the large, because…both were equal in not being slaves” (pg. 381). Whiteness was the glue that kept small property owners politically aligned with the truly wealthy. This alliance was so strong that many wealthy Virginians did not feel the need for the English aristocratic system to support their own position in society—just the opposite. As we all know, many wealthy Virginians such as Jefferson and Washington made common cause with poorer folk by opposing the king. What need was there of the English king in a colony where any white man could in theory own another human being? Virginia was awash in kings and potential kings. No wonder, Morgan suggests, that it produced so many ardent republicans.

I’ll leave Morgan with the last word, from pg. 387: “Eventually, to be sure, the course the Virginians charted for the United States proved the undoing of slavery. And a Virginian general gave up at Appomattox the attempt to support freedom with slavery…Was the vision of a nation of equals flawed at the source by contempt for both the poor and the black? Is America still colonial Virginia writ large? More than a century after Appomattox the questions linger.”

Why White Christians Should Read White Fragility

Dear white reader: how often do us white people have to be aware of our whiteness in day-to-day interactions? Of course the answer to that question will depend on our own particular social surroundings, but I bet that the vast majority of us out there don’t have to take our race into consideration all that much as we go about normal life.

By now I hope we’re all aware that such racial ease is not the experience for many non-white Americans. Why do white folk so often get to feel like their race is a non-issue when for so many others, race is an inescapable issue?

Robin Diangelo investigates this question in her book White Fragility: Why It’s So Hard for White People to Talk About Racism. Her answer is that being white is a socially constructed racial identity that carries with it the privilege of being considered racially normal. It’s the identity of not having to have an identity; being white is the contrast to all other racial identities. As such, whiteness is integral to racism—“racism” not in the sense of discrete expressions of racial antipathy but in the sense of an “-ism”: an organizing principle of society, like capitalism or individualism. Racism organizes American society just as powerfully as these other -ism’s do.

Yet, as Diangelo points out, white people’s typical way of thinking about racism is not social, it is individual. “Racism” usually means the hostile attitudes of particular persons. That was how I used the word in that post I wrote about old relatives. (I wish I had read this book before I wrote that post!). But such usage, Diangelo argues, does our country a disservice: “racist” has become an adjective almost synonymous with “bad,” and so many well-meaning white folk are terrified at the notion of being labeled a racist. In their terror, many white people can’t handle any kind of discussion that comes close to identifying ways in which their own behavior participates in the larger social system of racism. White people escape from or destroy these discussions by shutting them down with shouty anger or sullen silence, derailing them with tears, or by stepping above them altogether by claiming to be racially “in the know” already.

Diangelo outlines no pat solutions for the ills of American society, but she does offer a way forward: the burden is on white people to examine their assumptions and to grow in ways of true (not showy) humility.

So now let’s bring this whole post around to its title: white, American Christians can benefit from reading White Fragility because doing so can increase their proficiency in the ways of humility, kindness, and love. That’s what we’re all about as Jesus Followers, right?

Here’s the deal. It can be scary to have someone say to you “examine yourself because you’re part of the problem.” No one wants to hear that. For many people, hearing that feels threatening to their very core sense of self.

But it shouldn’t feel as threatening to us Christians. We know that we’re in this sinful world and that our roots are tragically entangled with the roots of sin (I’m thinking of the Parable of the Weeds in the Wheat, Matthew 13:24-30). We also know that Jesus’s death is the atoning sacrifice for “the sins of the whole world” (1 John 2:2). We should be okay with examining ourselves critically because we know that our imperfection does not impede God’s love for us.

And as Christians we should also be okay with laying aside worldly identities and allegiances. As John wrote, Christ gave us “power to become children of God.” That status—God’s Child—should be our foundation and standing on it we can decrease in our own hearts the importance of being white or American.

I was talking to someone about White Fragility recently. She asked me if I thought I would be white in heaven. As someone who has faith in the bodily resurrection of the dead, I anticipate that in the next age my immortal flesh will have the pale skin color that I have now. But that won’t mean that I’ll be “white.” Being “white” in the age I live in now carries with it a privilege that others who aren’t “white” simply don’t have. Being “white” is a crucial cog in the overall mechanism of this world’s injustice. So no, I won’t be “white” in the New Jerusalem. My body will bear the phenotype that my European ancestors gave me, sure, but that “white” thing? It’s a this world thing. Christians, who look ahead to the next world that Christ will bring at his return, should be willing to hold on loosely to the “white” thing. White Fragility can give us some pointers as to how.

What Should We Celebrate?

This past Independence Day, at the 2020 Salute to America, President Trump spoke at length about how we as Americans should regard the nation’s historical narrative. “Our past,” the President said, is an “incredible story of American progress.” The end result of all this progress, in the President’s view, is the country as it stands today: “the greatest, most exceptional, and most virtuous nation in the history of the world.” This understanding of American history is under attack, according to the President, from the “radical left” and their allies who “tear down our statues” and thus “erase our history”; the President went so far as to say that this coalition of people “are lying about history” and “want us to be ashamed of who we are.”

As I read through the President’s speech, his likening of the demolition of statues with the erasure of history caught my attention because I have heard other people, whose politics are worlds apart from Trump’s, make similar statements over the years. From what I have observed there seems to be an assumption in the minds of many that if a statue comes down it’s like saying “let’s forget about this person or event.”

Yet such an assumption falls apart when you consider that many—if not most—public statues and monuments to historical figures do more than just memorialize; they celebrate. This celebration is often conveyed without words. Think about the Jefferson Memorial in DC. Even if you had no clue who Thomas Jefferson was and couldn’t read the English language, you would still, upon walking into that structure, think to yourself “whoever this guy was he must have been pretty good, because he’s standing on a pedestal in something that looks like a temple.” Right? Perhaps I’m being unsophisticated, but I bet that’s the idea you would get.

Now consider another famous DC monument: the Vietnam Veterans Memorial. If any memorial simply reminds people of something, this one does. As far as I can reckon, the memorial’s only political statement about the Vietnam War is that it is something to be remembered, if only for the sacrifice it demanded of so many Americans—with no hint of celebration.

So what should we celebrate? That’s the real question.

In Charlottesville, Virginia, stands a statue of Robert E. Lee. If I’m remembering it right, Lee is in uniform, on his horse, on a pedestal, on a hilltop. That statue valorizes Lee. Should American society in the year 2020 continue to valorize this man who fought the US Army in an attempt to preserve slavery? I would say no. It seems, if the state of Mississippi’s recent decision to remove the Confederate battle flag from its state flag is any indicator, that many people are of a similar mind. Removing Confederate emblems from the land is a decision to stop the celebration of the Confederacy, which is not the same as forgetting it altogether.

I imagine that for some, the case to take down a statue of Lee feels worlds apart from the case to take down a statue of George Washington or Abraham Lincoln. If the idea of taking down a statue of, say, Thomas Jefferson makes no sense to you, just stay with me for a little bit longer.

Consider the President’s own words on July 4th: the heritage of America “belongs to citizens of every background and of every walk of life. No matter our race, color, religion, or creed, we are one America.” That sounds nice, doesn’t it? One big, happy, country that fully includes in its historical narrative all the different kinds of people who are here and part of “us.” But here’s the crux of the matter: if the “we” of America includes all its citizens— white, Black, gay, straight, English-speaking, Spanish-speaking, religious, non-religious, all of us—then what should we celebrate?

How that fully inclusive ‘we’ thinks about and celebrates its history is going to look different than the typical story told about the United States, the story the President champions in his Fourth of July remarks. The President said that “we will defend, protect, and preserve [the] American way of life, which began in 1492 when Columbus discovered America.” The simple fact is that if the American way of life is understood to mean the free exercise of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness for all its citizens, then the American way of life in no way began in 1492. It actually began much more recently than that and one could argue that it hasn’t started yet. After all, the President said at Mt. Rushmore that we much “teach our children…that no one can hold them down,” but not two months ago George Floyd was held down by a police officer until he died.

So what should we celebrate?

What to Do With Your Racist Old Relatives?

So this post gets a tad personal. It starts with a little story: several years ago, I was on a road trip with a friend of mine who is of East Asian descent (I’m white). While eating lunch at a travel plaza we started talking about our grandparents. I told him some stories about my granddad (may he rest in peace) and I couldn’t help but tell my friend—with a wince—that my grandpa was, well, kind of a racist, at least from what I saw.

In all earnestness my friend asked “how did you know?”

I had to process this question for a couple of seconds.

I asked my friend if he had ever met someone who just said blatant, forthrightly racist things on a semi-regular basis. He said no. That answer surprised me, but hey, praise God for it.

So I had to tell my friend, as best I could, how it works with the racist people that I’ve known: racist remarks, jokes, and rants just bubble out of them. It’s like they’re obsessed with racism. I told my friend how, when I was just a kid, my grandpa would tell me crude jokes that used the n-word. My grandpa would recount stories about how, according to him, Puerto Ricans were lazy. My grandpa once said, after reading an article about a civil rights issue in the newspaper, that “we paid black folks their nickel and dime back years ago.” And the last coherent thing my grandpa ever said to me—back when Obama was president—was “the President? He’s just another [n-word] from Chicago.”

But, as I told my friend over lunch, for all of my grandpa’s racist remarks, he was still my grandpa and I loved him. The man was steadfastly dependable and tender toward me. From the time I was little until into my mid-20s he would call on my birthday and sing me the birthday song over the phone. I would spend a whole week at his house in the country during summer breaks and we’d build bonfires, do target practice, and stargaze. I miss him a lot.

So it’s complicated, I said to my friend with a sigh. Wrapping up the whole bit about grandpa, I ruefully told my friend “so this is a thing that white people my age have to deal with: how do we process our grandparents’ racism?”

But as soon as I said that sentence my next thought was: why did I just say that? Because, dear white readers in your 30s, do we really really process our racist old relatives? Now, not everyone’s grandpa was throwing around the n-word with glee, I know. But I suspect that I’m not alone in having this kind of experience with one’s grandparents—not by a long shot.

Frequently, when this issue—the issue of “oh man, our grandparents were racists”—comes up in conversation among white folk the pattern of talking about it, from what I’ve seen, goes like this: someone, in a pained voice, relates some anecdote illustrating the racist thoughts of their grandparents. Another person, in a sad tone, admits that their grandparents had similar attitudes. Then someone says “it was a different era” and the conversation moves on.

The “it was a different era” summation never sits well with me. Saying that allows us in the here-and-now to feel distant from and superior to the attitudes of our predecessors. But are those attitudes so distant, really? Hopefully, in this momentous year, we white folk can all agree that racism isn’t a thing in the past—it’s around us in the here-and-now.

So here’s what I propose. It’s a simple thing, but I’m hoping it’s the type of simple thing that if repeated often enough starts some change in the right direction. White folk: next time you’re all to yourselves and the talk turns toward the “oh man—our grandparents were real racists!” topic, instead of closing the talk with “it was a different era,” how about segueing with “we got to do better than that.” The point of saying this would not be to judge or excuse the past—it would be to focus our attention on activity needed in the present. Because the world our grandparents made is still with us, and still needs to be remade. Our predecessors’ story is ours and we have to try to change the plot line through whatever means we have.