Baldwin vs. Buckley

It’s always upsetting to realize that you’ve admired a racist.  Even when, as is often the case, you suspect that a cherished intellectual or cultural figure was probably a racist (for example, because of the time in which they lived), it’s always unpleasant to be presented with the proof.

I have always been a casual fan of William F. Buckley, Jr.  He was a beautiful writer, and he could be very funny, in a supercilious way (I happen to like superciliousness).  Despite the fact that I disagree with many of his positions and conclusions, I have always thought of him as an extremely smart man, and I admired that.

But, then, the other night, I watched the 1965 debate at the Cambridge Union between Buckley and James Baldwin.  The proposition was ‘The American dream has been purchased at the expense of the American Negro’.  Baldwin spoke pro, Buckley against, the proposition.

James Baldwin is magnificent always, but never more so than here.  He is, for my money, the best crafter of prose who has ever written in American English, but he was also a wonderful speaker, and there are several moments in during his argument which have become rightly famous:

James Baldwin
James Baldwin, from Esquire.com

“It comes as a great shock to discover the country which is your birthplace and to which you owe your life and your identity has not in its whole system of reality evolved any place for you.”

“I am stating very seriously, and this is not an overstatement, that I picked the cotton, and I carried it to market and I built the railroads under someone else’s whip, for nothing.  For nothing.  The southern oligarchy which has until today so much power in Washington and so some power in the world, was created by my labor and my sweat and the violation of my women and the murder of my children.  This, in the land of the free and the home of the brave.”

“It is a terrible thing for an entire people to surrender to the notion that one ninth of its population is beneath them.”

Buckley has the admittedly thankless task of following Baldwin.  No one should have to follow Baldwin’s blinding moral clarity, but Buckley, it immediately becomes clear, is a particularly terrible choice.  He proves this by saying, almost with his first breath:

“I propose to pay him [Baldwin] the honor this night of saying to him, ‘Mr. Baldwin, I am going to speak to you without any reference whatever to those surrounding protections which you are used to in virtue of the fact that you are a negro.”

It reveals the enormity of the error in Buckley’s thinking that he believes, in 1965, and after hearing Baldwin’s own, wrenching words, that being African-American has afforded Baldwin any protections at all.  He does seem to feel that an enormous amount of unnecessary angst goes into discussions of America’s racial troubles, because he goes on to say:

“I challenge you to name me another civilization any time any where in the history of the world in which the problems of the minority which have been showing considerable material and political advancement is as much a subject of dramatic concern as it is in the United States.”

Which quote implies, at least to me, that Buckley doesn’t think that the treatment of African-Americans deserves so much “dramatic concern”.

That this attitude was (and still is) common makes it no less unforgivable.  Buckley acknowledges that there is racial discrimination, but he seems to wish that everyone weren’t so worked up about it.  This view is only possible if you believe that it is not urgent that the rights and the humanity of black Americans be observed to the exact degree they would be if they were white.  And to feel that any discrepancy is not urgent can only arise from an intrinsic lack of feeling that black Americans are equal to yourself.

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William F. Buckley Jr., from the National Review website

All of which was bad enough.  But then, then, Buckley said something which was so chilling and menacing that I believe it has permanently rearranged my opinion of him.  He promised the Cambridge Union (and Baldwin, who surely knew better) that Americans were essentially decent, and that “the fundamental friend of the Negro people in the United States is the good nature, and is the generosity, and is the wishes, is the decency, the fundamental decency that do lie at the heart of the spirit of the American people”.  And, then, Buckley threatened them:

“Because if it does finally come to a confrontation, a radical confrontation, between giving up what we understand to be the best features of the American way of life…then we will fight the issue, and we will fight the issue not only in the Cambridge Union but we will fight it as you were once recently called to do on beaches and on hills and on mountains and on landing grounds and we will be convinced that just as you won the war against a particular threat to civilization, you were nevertheless waging a war in favor of and for the benefit of Germans, your own enemies, just as we are convinced that, if it should ever come to that kind of a confrontation, our own determination to win the struggle will be a determination to win the war  not only for whites but also for Negros.”

In case that is unclear, what Buckley is saying is this: if African-Americans force white Americans to confront their own lack of decency, the whites will meet them in war, and that this battle will be done for the sake of the blacks themselves.  Because, according to Buckley, it is in the interests of black Americans that everyone find white Americans fundamentally decent.

Buckley served during World War II – he understood what it meant to be compared to Nazis (he famously threatened to punch Gore Vidal for doing it to him).  And yet he is here comparing African-Americans to Nazis.  And he is equating the defense of white decency with the defence of civilization, and he was doing it at a time, let us be very clear, when white society in the United States was not decent (which is not to say that it is decent now).

The fact that you are willing to defend an idea with arms does not make the idea right or true; anyone who fought against Nazis should have known that.  This is a shameful performance on Buckley’s part: it should be remembered, and held against him.  I admired his mind once, but it was used here to dispicable effect.  I’ll admire it no longer.

“It Is Not Truth Which Matters, But Victory”

In general, I don’t think it’s fruitful to spend a lot of time trying to figure Adolf Hitler out.

I certainly understand the impulse: when we discover monsters in our midst, we are strongly motivated to examine them carefully.  Partly, this is prurient – they are fascinating.  But partly, this is survival: we must learn to spot them, so that we can stop them sooner in the future.

But to stop them, we don’t really need to understand them; we just need to be able to recognize them.  Which is lucky for us, because the truth is that we will never really be able to understand them.

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Hitler at Nuremberg in 1934.  From iwm.org.uk

Hitler is the best and most important example of this incomprehensibility. Oceans of ink have been spilled examining and psychoanalyzing Hitler through his books, his speeches, his relationships, and his actions, but he remains a cipher.  Why did he do the things he did?  Was he an evil mastermind? An ordinary megalomaniac who happened to be at the right place at the right time?  Did he really believe all the things he preached, or was he merely manipulating the people around him?  How are we to understand his contradictions?

The question which has always most troubled me is: did Hitler understand that any of his actions were wrong?  Let’s take, for example, the attempted extermination of the Jewish people: did he understand that most people would think that was evil?  He employed euphemisms, which implies that he did.  

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What, then, did he make of that?  Did he believe that he acted for good but that he alone in the world saw the truth?  Did he believe that everyone secretly agreed with him (i.e. that the world would be better without Jews) and that only he had the courage to admit it?  Or did he fail to trouble himself with questions of right and wrong at all?

As I’ve said before, I don’t usually trouble myself too much with these questions, since I believe that they are essentially unanswerable.  We will never know what Hitler “really” believed – it is enough to know what he definitely did.

But I recently read Albert Speer’s memoir, ‘Inside the Third Reich’, and it got me grasping again after this old question.  Speer was Hitler’s architect and then his Minister of Armaments.  He spent quite a lot of time in Hitler’s company, and in his memoirs, he mentions something that Hitler said to him in 1936:

“There are two possibilities for me: to win through with all my plans, or to fail.  If I win, I shall be one of the greatest men in history.  If I fail, I shall be condemned, despised, and damned.” (p. 101)

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Speer with Hitler in 1937, designing the World’s Fair German Pavilion.  From historytoday.com

Despite my own good advice, I have become fixated on this quotation because it implies that Hitler was aware that other people would consider his actions atrocious.  He may have considered the atrocity negotiable – he seemed to believe that victories would justify him – but he was cognizant of the fact that, in the world he inhabited, his plans were unacceptable.  He saw that he needed to remake the world in order to make himself righteous.

I am particularly struck by his use of the word ‘damned’.  Damnation is total; it describes the unredeemed.  His use of it suggests that he knew that his actions would be considered not merely bad, but in fact evil.  And, to be frank, I sort of quail in front of a mind which can see the evil it is about to do as evil and still do it.

Even if this quote offers a glimpse into Hitler’s darkness, maybe it’s better not to peer too hard after it.  Ultimately, Hitler will never satisfy those of us who want to understand evil – he will never yield up his own true beliefs.  Maybe it will suffice to say that, in this one case, Hitler was ultimately correct: he did fail, and so he is condemned, despised, and damned.

The title of this post is a quote from Hitler, from a speech before the Reichstag in Berlin in January, 1939 – it is not the opinion of the author.

Featured image from biography.com

Monkey See, Monkey Do

It always surprises me that people look to monkeys for hope.

I suppose it is because they looks so much like us, because they are, in fact, like us, that they serve something of the same function in the debate of essential morality that children do: they seem like us in a pristine state.  We look to them to see what we might have been like, before adulthood or primate evolution fucked us up.

So people look to monkeys and apes to get a glimpse into our own essential nature: if they are amoral animals merely, then perhaps we are no better than they, only cleverer.

But if they are good, if they have kind natures, if they treat each other according to some kind of primitive moral code, then that would be good news indeed for us: it would suggest that ethics is in our nature.

That is the thesis of the book ‘Good Natured: The Origins of Right and Wrong in Humans and Other Animals’, by Frans de Waal.  De Waal is a zoologist and primate ethologist, and a very persuasive writer about primates (he is the author of the great, great ‘Chimpanzee Politics: Power and Sex among Apes’), and in ‘Good Natured’, he says, “I have set myself the task of seeing if some of the building blocks of morality are recognizable in other animals” (p.3).

He does this, he says, because, “Given the universality of moral systems, the tendency to develop and enforce them must be an integral part of human nature…instead of human nature’s being either fundamentally brutish or fundamentally noble, it is both” (p.2-5).

Double Holding
Double-Holding (in rhesus macaque)

Which is to say, of course, that it is neither.  Frans de Waal did not convince me that apes are fundamentally, rudimentarily moral, but he did convince me that we are fundamentally social.  And that is morally worrisome.

For example, did you know that rhesus macaques hold their infants tightly in their arms with other infants, to encourage the two infants to bond?  It’s called ‘double-holding’.  But, and here’s the really interesting bit, according to de Waal, “double-holding is highly selective: nine out of ten mothers hold their infant with the offspring of females who outrank them…perhaps mothers are suggesting upper-class rather than lower-class friends to their offspring” (p.101).

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Punishing an low-ranking playmate (in rhesus macaque)

 

Conversely, when their offspring play with a lower-ranking youngster, the mother may separate and punish the lower-ranked young monkey.

Or, “macaques are specialists in indirect revenge [emphasis in the original]…victims of attack often vent their feelings on a relative of the opponent.  Their targets are typically younger than the initial aggressor, hence easier to intimidate, and the vindictive action may occur after considerable delay” (p.159).

De Waal sees in these behaviors evidence of the kind of sophisticated social behavior which might underlie rudimentary ethics and I think that makes him hopeful.  I see in these behaviors evidence that primates (including humans) are fundamentally social, and that does not make me hopeful.

Social behaviors, social instincts, of the kind de Waal describes aren’t moral – they are tribal.  These behaviors suggest that primates have deep-wired capacities to tell in-group versus out-group, to assign other primates spots in a social hierarchy, and to place individuals within functional units for purposes of social advancement or retaliation.

Conflict
Three lower-ranking females gang up on a higher-ranking female (in rhesus macaques)

De Waal may see the germ of morality here, but I see the germ of most human evil.  Our remarkable and innate ability to sort each other, our intense desire to affiliate and to exclude, our propensity to generalize the virtues and sins of individuals onto their kin, or to groups that share their characteristics: these are the behaviors which underlie genocides and race wars, religious crusades and colonializations.  And I see the beginnings of them in those macaques.

It is very hard to shake an instinct: you may learn all the moral rules you like, but in the dark moments, when you are angry or afraid, you tend to default to your instincts.

And our instincts, revealed in those monkeys, are to arrange ourselves into heritable hierarchies, which are also called ‘classes’.  Our instincts are to claw towards the status of those above us and not to pity those below us.  Our instincts are to remember the insults we’re dealt and not the ones we’ve given, to retaliate, to revenge ourselves on the kin of our aggressors.

And so monkeys don’t make me hopeful at all.

All images are taken from ‘Good Natured‘, and were taken by Frans de Waal at the Yerkes National Primate Research Center at Emory University, where he is the Charles Howard Candler professor of Primate Behavior.

Note for the sake of pedantry only:  Monkeys and apes are not synonymous terms: they are different sub-orders of primates. Rhesus macaques, pictured above in the body of the post, are monkeys.  The header image is of a bonobo, which, like humans, are apes.

“For He Makes His Sun Rise on the Evil and on the Good, and Sends Rain on the Just and on the Unjust”

     I’ve become a little obsessed with something Vladimir Putin once said.

     Putin has, of course, been much in the news lately here in the United States as various interested parties try to figure out exactly how involved he has been with our President.  And so I finally got around to reading a book I’ve been wanting to read since it came out: Masha Gessen’s ‘The Man Without a Face: The Unlikely Rise of Vladimir Putin‘.

My edition has two afterwords.  The second, a postscript written in 2014, concerns the autocrat’s violent anti-gay ideology.  Gessen is herself gay, and it was the persecution of homosexuals which finally drove her from her country, and so in a book with many emotionally difficult portions, it is one of the most upsetting.

     And, in it, Gessen quotes, among other things, Putin’s State of the Federation address to Parliament in 2013, in which he said,

     “Today many nations are revising their moral values and ethical norms, eroding ethnic traditions and differences between peoples and cultures.  Society is now required not only to recognize everyone’s right to the freedom of consciousness, political views and privacy, but also to accept without question the equality of good and evil, strange as it seems, concepts that are opposite in meaning.” (p. 312)

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Putin entering the Grand Kremlin Palace in Moscow to give that State of the Federation address in 2013, from the Financial Times

     It is always fascinating to watch someone invoke the fight against evil in order to achieve evil.  It begs the question: do they know that they are about to commit an evil act?  If not (surely not), then why don’t they know?  If someone else committed that act, would they know it was evil?  Are they hypocrites interested only in the accumulation of their own power, or are they true believers?

     Vladimir Putin and I agree that evil exists, but we have very different notions of what it is, what it looks like, and who is doing it.  In fact, we probably believe that the other is a pretty near approximation of an evil actor.

     Putin believes (I am persuaded by Gessen on this) that evil is personified by liberal, democratizing, Westernizing forces which corrode the conservative, traditional power structures of his country.

     I believe that the evil person is one who seeks to accrete power, wealth, or to experience joy or relief, at the expense of the natural rights of other people: at the expense of their safety, health, freedom, or life.  I believe evil is that which requires that the rights of the other be sacrificed to achieve the goals of the self.

     So how can Vladimir Putin and I use the same word and mean such different things?  If ‘evil’ means ‘someone I disagree with very, very much’, or ‘someone who does something I find personally repugnant’, does it really have meaning worth preserving?  Is ‘evil’ just another level on our personal scale of badness, or is it another thing altogether, a distinct category of human behavior?  If it is the latter, shouldn’t we make sure that our use of that word is spare?  Shouldn’t we make sure not to dull its edge by overuse?

     Obviously, I cannot stop Putin from saying or doing whatever he pleases (apparently, no one can).  But I can object strongly to his use of that word, ‘evil’, which is incorrect and dangerous.

Pew Homosexuality 2014
Results of a 2013 Pew study asking the question “Should society accept homosexuality?’, broken down by nation, from pewglobal.org

     Whether you believe that homosexuality is right or wrong (and I would like to be clear and emphatic here: I believe that homosexuality is exactly as right, as normal, as healthy, and as natural as heterosexuality), surely we can agree that one person’s homosexuality does not deprive any heterosexual person of their natural rights, and, therefore, is not evil and should not be so called.  Tolerance of homosexuality, then, is not a commitment to neutrality in the battle between good and evil – that is a preposterous idea.

     We may disagree about what is right and what is wrong, but we should not disagree about evil.  There are many things which are considered ‘wrong’ by some portion of the population but which we all ought to have the right and freedom to do: take the Lord’s name in vain, get a divorce, tell a lie, have a child out of wedlock, smoke marijuana, marry someone of the same gender, cheat on our spouse, work on the Sabbath.  You may think one or more of these things is wrong, but, if I do them, I do not violate your natural rights, and so my right to do them should be respected.  We can agree to disagree.

I don’t believe that we can afford to agree to disagree about evil – there are lives at stake.  And so I don’t believe that we should be using the word ‘evil’ when we mean ‘wrong’; I don’t believe we should use the word ‘evil’ except when we mean it.  Because we’re going to want to have that word at our disposal, potent and not diluted, when we need it (to, say, describe a man who is having opposition journalists killed).

     And we are going to need it.

 

Featured image from abc.com, anti-Putin protests in the UK sparked by the Russian crackdown on gay rights in 2014.

Peaceful, Evil Man

To Tony Judt, With Humility and Apologies

     There are minds so strong and lovely that one quails at the idea of disagreeing with them.  The error must be yours, you think, because their thinking is so sure and clean and reliable.

     When I find a discrepancy between my thinking and that of a greater mind, I usually retire, but every once and awhile, an admired intellect will assert something that I feel strongly is incorrect, and I find myself unable to give way.

     That happened to me this week.  I have been reading, with enormous pleasure, ‘When the Facts Change‘ by Tony Judt, the lucid, moderate, incisive historian of post-World War Europe. Judt is the sort of author is who is so reasonable and articulate that he is dangerously persuasive, and I find myself, usually, in total agreement with him.

     So I was caught up short when I read something in this book with which I disagree pretty categorically:

“It is war, not racism or ethnic antagonism or religious fervor, that leads to atrocity.  War – total war – has been the crucial antecedent condition for mass criminality in the modern era.  The first primitive concentration camps were set up by the British during the Boer War of 1899-1902.  Without World War I there would have been no Armenian genocide and it is highly unlikely that either Communism or Fascism would have seized hold of modern states.  Without World War II there would have been no Holocaust.  Absent the forcible involvement of Cambodia in the Vietnam War, we would never have heard of Pol Pot.” (p. 274)

     These data are cherry-picked.  

     First of all, it is certainly coherent to lay the victory (though not the rise) of Communism in Russia at the feet of World War I, but to suggest that, for example, the millions of deaths in China during the Cultural Revolution (1966 – 1976) were a result most proximately of World War I is ridiculous – the People’s Republic wasn’t even established until 1949!

1966 Struggle Session
A ‘struggle session’ in Harbin in 1966 during the Cultural Revolution, featuring public humiliation.  From scmp.com

     Or: perhaps the first British concentration camps in Africa were built because of the Boer War, but what about the detention camps they used for massive deportations of Kikuyu in Kenya in the 1950’s?  Describing the “Mau Mau Uprising” as ‘total war’ seems like an enormous stretch, even when one considers how reluctant the British have been to be honest about it.

Mau Mau
British soldiers looking for Mau Mau fighters in Kenya in 1954.  From guardian.com

     Or: what about the Japanese annexation of Manchuria in 1931 and the truly blood-curdling actions taken by the occupying forces there?  

Rape of Nanking
A Japanese soldier poses with decapitated heads in Nanking in 1937.  From ‘The Rape of Nanking’ by Iris Chang

     Or: if we must restrict ourselves to the treatment of African-Americans in modernity, what about the Jim Crow era in the United States, which was nothing if not atrocious?

Lynching
From atlantablackstar.com

     There are more.  The truth is, there is no limiting circumstance on human evil.  To suggest that there is, is to indulge in optimism completely without cause.

     Judt’s assertion offends me because it implies that, in the absence of war, people can be trusted not to lash out at each other genocidally, and this is clearly not the case.  The arc of human history does not bear this out; the history of the twentieth century does not bear this out; neither the history of my nation or his bears this out.

     Humans require no special context to commit evil.  They do not require war to commit genocide.  They do not need to be in extremis to commit atrocities.  They do it in all places at all times whether or not they have war as an excuse.

     This capacity to annihilate one another is not a limited or circumscribed capacity – it is a human capacity.  If we keep looking for reasons why we could never have done the same terrible things as other people, if we keep looking for special circumstances which explain why cruelty and murder and evil are not universal, then we aren’t going to see the next evil coming.

     We have to take responsibility, not for the evil we have or have not done, but the evil we are capable of doing.  To say that only people in certain circumstances might commit atrocities is logic preliminary to explaining why we cannot commit them.

     But every nation, people, or creed will have the opportunity to strike cruelly at another people, and, if they are convinced beforehand that they are not capable of it, then they will think less critically about what they do.  It is only by acknowledging that we may all do terrible things unless we are careful that we will see the need to take care.

     And we must take care.

 

Featured Image from law.georgetown.edu/library

Where All Are Guilty

     I’m not sure what we’re all doing here, exactly.

     I think it’s fair to say that when the Allies liberated the German concentration camps in 1945, most of the world was shocked by what they saw there.  They had not known that mankind was willing to commit an enormity of that measure.

     And so we learned then what we were really capable of.  Maybe we should have known before – the record of man committing evil against man is as old as history itself – but, for whatever reason, we did not even seem to suspect before then.  Certainly, we knew after.

     We saw that we were monsters, that we would tear each other apart for the sheer joy of it, that we would grind out the lives of the young and the vulnerable by the million to sate our own blood-thirsty needs.

     The Germans were not the first people to commit genocide, and they weren’t the last. But they were a fully modern, secular nation, and that proved to us that no creed or technology of thought yet devised places a people out of the reach of those terrible impulses.  It seems we carry our capacity for annihilation with us, that we are born with it, like our capacity for love or language.

     Those camps were our own darkest heart brought to light, and when we looked them full in the face, we faced a choice: we could abandon ourselves to the despair of the wicked, embrace the nihilism that such evil implied, or we could repudiate it.

     However, since human evil is a fact, since it has touched every age and every nation, in order to deny it in ourselves, we must believe that we can change.  And, in order to change, we must be able to learn.  If we cannot learn, history will bend again and again towards those camps, towards the ovens and mass graves, and we will be monsters still.

     But what would it mean to learn away evil?  Presumably, it would not merely mean that we refrained from rounding Jews into camps and exterminating them, or rounding anyone into camps and exterminating them.  It would mean understanding the grave errors in thinking which led us there.

     The most serious error is this: that it is useful or correct to think about groups: national, religious, socieconomic, racial groups, as moral units, to fear or condemn them as though they were individuals.  Treating groups as individuals, as though they possessed the characteristics of individuals (‘values’, ‘intelligence’, ‘trustworthiness’, ‘criminality’), is rarely useful and often evil, and the events of the last century (not just the Holocaust, but also the American Civil Rights movement, the advances of women’s rights in much of the world, the slow death of European colonialism, the enormous genocides in China and the USSR) should have convinced absolutely every thinking person of that.

Brexit 'Breaking Point'
UKIP Pro-Brexit, Anti-Immigration ‘Leave’ Ad

     But my own countrymen have just elected a man to the office of the President of the United States in a large part because of his propensity for exactly this kind of thinking: his willingness to treat Mexicans as a group, “blacks” as a group, Muslims as a group, to act upon them as though they were individuals, to register or ban them.  We are still making this same mistake.  We aren’t learning.

 

     This lesson is so important, so necessary to the functioning of a moral society, that, if we have failed to grasp it after everything we’ve seen, then all our manners and petty ethics and customs are so much farse: play-acting at true civilization, and I don’t understand why we bother.  If the dark evil still beats within us which causes us to drive the other out into the cold because he is the other, to strike him down or deny him, then why are we bothering to honor our speeding tickets or queue at supermarkets or refrain from parking in the handicap spots?  If we still haven’t learned that children are children wherever they come from, if we are still willing to let them die because we can’t look past their category designation, then we are doomed and I don’t understand why I pay my taxes or say ‘please’ and ‘thank you’.  These are the trifling rituals of civilization – we have failed to grasp the fundamentals.

     I will pay my taxes; I will say ‘please’ and ‘thank you’, because I wish to participate in a civil and good society.  But these gestures do not make a society civil or good – they are just niceties propping up a rotten structure unless we can learn and move forward, can understand our mistakes and become better.  And we aren’t better yet.

 

Header Image:

Selection of Hungarian Jews at the Auschwitz-Birkenau killing center. Poland, May 1944.— Yad Vashem Photo Archives, taken from the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum Website, http://www.ushmm.org

The Founding Father Problem

     Since you’ve insisted, I will admit it to you: I really dislike Thomas Jefferson.  In fact, I dislike him personally and profoundly, almost violently – I try not to dwell on my feelings in public, lest I become agitated and make a spectacle of myself, but the truth is, if I think about him for too long at a stretch, I will end ranting and cursing, even to myself.

     There are many good reasons to dislike Thomas Jefferson: you might loathe the American farmer.  You might have sided strongly with Alexander Hamilton.  You might date the decline in American culture to the introduction of the dumbwaiter to the continent.  You might be a banker.

     I hate him because he was an accomplished hypocrite, and I believe that his moral janus-face helped lodge something poisonous at the heart of the American story.

     I’m not talking about slavery.  Well, I am, but I’m not.  Slavery was disgusting – obviously, the decision of the founding fathers to allow the practice to continue in their new nation was despicable.

     But the problem with Jefferson, in particular, is subtler: more than any other founding father (with the possible exception of George Washington), we identify with Jefferson our particularly American virtues.  He was, after all, the author of our most exalted sentence:

     We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of Happiness.

     It’s magnificent – it fills Americans with patriotic feeling.  It expresses the quality about which we are most proud.  For this reason, we have always cherished Thomas Jefferson, as though he embodied in his person, and not merely in his words, our best self.

     But, of course, he didn’t.  Thomas Jefferson owned hundreds of slaves.  It’s all well and good to crow about universal human rights, but when you go home and rape the humans you own, you should have no claim on the affections of any nation which prizes those rights.

     We ought to have repudiated Jefferson when we repudiated slavery, but we didn’t: we tried to keep the man while ignoring the slave owner, and I don’t think we can do that.

     Slavery, the keeping of people in bondage, is an unpardonable crime – why do we pardon it for the sake of our founders?  Jefferson gives us no reason to forgive him – he did not even manumit his slaves after his death, like Washington, despite recognizing that the institution was morally repugnant.

     He also cannot take refuge in his age – many of Jefferson’s contemporaries realized that slavery was evil and acted accordingly, including Benjamin Franklin and the aforementioned Alexander Hamilton.  And even if his peers had not seen their way to moral clarity on the issue of slavery, I don’t believe we would be unreasonable in nurturing higher hopes for Jefferson than for other men: he was, after all, the author of our guiding moral statement.

     And Jefferson did realize that slavery was an immoral institution.  He even took steps to limit its spread in the new world; he just stopped short of implementing measures which would have personally diminished him, and that is evil.  A man who looked at black Americans and failed to see the crimes being committed against them would be morally, fatally, blind; a man who saw, but would not act for love of profit, should be damned by history.

     If we are to grapple properly with slavery, we need to stop excusing the men who committed it.  We don’t allow other nations to excuse their own crimes against humanity, or the men who commit them.  Jefferson wasn’t merely a slave owner – he was a head of state, a powerful man who’s interventions helped perpetuate the institution.

     We would not forgive the Germans if they exalted a Nazi statesman because he was the author of some beautiful words, enshrined his image on their currency, named towns and roads and hospitals after him.  The ownership of a race, the complete refusal to admit its humanity, is not less evil than its extermination.  We should not pretend that Jefferson is anything less than a monster.

     It shouldn’t shock anyone that a nation which persists in revering Thomas Jefferson would, in 2016, essentially allow police to shoot black men without reason or repercussion.  If we were, as a nation, serious about valuing black lives, we would not celebrate men who traded in them.