One of the things that touched me deeply about Obama’s autobiography is the fact that it, in part, is an examination of the effect of the absent father and that it was written while one of Obama’s parents was dying. This reminded me of another memoir I read in another class, namely Out of Place written by Edward Said, who was a controversial figure in the realm of postcolonial studies. Said wrote his memoir while battling leukemia — he won that battle, but that war eventually took his life. However, that struggle shaped his writing and had Said known that he would live for several more years, perhaps his autobiography might have read differently.
I found it interesting that both Obama and Said reflected on a life lived while they were witnessing a life lost and it made me wonder how Obama’s autobiography might have been different if he had known his mother would succumb to cancer in just a few months. He posed the same question in his introduction and I had to wonder if we would have heard the same messages had his memoir shifted from the mourning of the absent parent to a celebration of the present one, especially given the end of chapter 14.
Bearing a parental void all his life taught Obama compassion and his search to fill the void left by an absent father drove him to help other African-Americans fill the voids in their life. Had he known his mother was dying perhaps Obama might have depicted this instinct differently — perhaps he would have penned it a reflection of his mother’s determination to find a positive place within the social order. Would his message of compassion have been lost?
One of the other aspects of Obama’s memoir to which I connected was the idea that appears in Chapter 10 that purity of race and culture can no longer serve as the basis for African-American’s, and I would argue anyone’s, self-esteem. I see this as a decidedly American thing, accustomed as we are to thinking of ourselves as part of a great melting pot, but I wish the rest of the world was more comfortable with this hybrid view of identity. In fact, I wish we were more comfortable with it, as well. Many ills and evils of the world could be eliminated if we could face the reality of our identities and instead of mourning what they lack (purity) celebrate what they are — a reflection of humanity’s rich diversity and limitless possibilities.
Monday, December 6, 2010
Sunday, November 28, 2010
Push and the film Precious
The most significant revelation I had watching the film Precious was that as difficult as the book Push was to read, watching the film was worse. I watched the film at home during naptimes before the in-class showing because I suspected that I would have a tough time making it through a movie about such unbearable realities. I was right. As much as I struggled emotionally to get through Sapphire’s novel that battle was nothing compared to the one I fought watching Sapphire’s parents call their child Precious and treat her as anything but.
What is especially remarkable about my reaction to the film is that its objectionable content was considerably leaner than the book’s. And thank God for that, because those few scenes, a couple of quick clips, and a spattering of suggestive lines was enough to make me want to wake my sleeping babies and hug them tight for all the other little babies who have no one to ward off the evils of this world.
So how did the film’s leaner content elicit a more emotionally profound response? I can only guess that something about the medium of film was able to overcome the scholarly distance my years of training in literature and writing have taught me to maintain. Written texts to me are literary puzzles and it is my responsibility as an engaged reader (and writer) to solve them. So as difficult as the content of Push was to read I was still able to disengage emotionally enough from it to admire the book as a work of art. The film, on the other hand, really challenged my scholarly objectivity. For instance, Precious’s parents in the book seemed so illogically evil that they remained flat characters, but the film brought them alive in a way the typed text could not and I found myself emotionally engaging with even Precious’s mother. From her daughter’s scrapbook we see that at one time she was a loving and devoted mother and then something changed, and that something was hers and Precious’s abuser. So though Precious’s mother fulfills a common stereotype, by presenting bits and pieces of her story the mother challenges the very stereotype she represents.
Precious herself is also (obviously) a challenge to the stereotype of the welfare-dependent, fat, black woman. At the end of the film Precious rejects her mother, saying she has “outgrown her” and we watch her leave that sad excuse for a woman behind in that sad excuse of a social support system, walking out smiling under the weight of her two children. So though the content of both the book and the film was depressing, its message was not. It was not despair I felt at the end, but rather hope.
So, like the book, the film also challenged stereotypes, even the one of the over-sexed, abusive, subhuman black man filled by Precious’s father. In both the film and the book Carl remained a flat, stereotypical character and its impossible to see him as anything but pure evil. We didn’t even see his face in the film. However, the film did something the book did not, namely provide us with a counter, that of the male nurse. Providing this counter is likely one reason why the birth scene in the book was altered for the big screen. Introducing the male nurse the film gives us a loving, nurturing, and supportive, as well as educated and cultured black man — the exact opposite of Carl.
This is also likely why the birth scene is that of Abdul’s and not Mongo’s. Introducing the male nurse at Abdul’s birth is in keeping with the timeline of the film. It makes sense to present this counter not at the birth of her daughter, but at the birth of her son, which was essentially Precious’s rebirth, as well. In school, learning to read, and expanding her worldview Precious is open to this counter of the educated and loving black man. This gives us hope as Precious faces raising a son as a single mother. She will certainly need all the positive male role models she can find to help her guide her child.
This scene was also changed in one other significant way. Instead of utilizing the metaphor of push as the book did, in the film the male nurse rather rudely (he’s lucky that laboring woman didn’t smack his face) yelled at Precious to stop screaming, which she promptly ignores. It is significant because it fits another of the book (and the film’s) themes, namely the connection between Precious’s motherhood and her voice. The need to protect, educate, and lovingly raise her son forced Precious take on the responsibility of protecting, educating, and lovingly raising herself. Screaming at the male nurse at the moment she became a mother (truly for the first time as it is this birth that inspired maternal feelings) crystallized the moment Precious found her voice and began to find herself.
Another way the film differed from the book was the Christmas scenes following Abdul’s birth, but yet again, these alterations support the film’s (and the book’s) focus on challenging stereotypes. Through the Christmas scenes we get a look at how Precious’s holiday life conflicted with others. Most families (we hope) love and celebrate each other during the holidays, but in Precious’s house they try to kill each other. By presenting Ms. Rain’s home life the film continues to challenge stereotypes even further. Ms. Rain’s “alternative lifestyle choices” produce a healthy, happy family life, which is juxtaposed with the debilitating problems of Precious’s more “traditional” family unit.
I found the film even challenged the stereotype of the heartless education system with its gaping cracks. Precious provided me with a perspective on “democratic” education that Push did not. Mrs. Lichtenstein was certainly a stand in for the U.S. education system, but as much as we can easily criticize her the film did make me realize that as over-burdened and under resourced as socialized education may be in this country, it is still well intentioned. Though Mrs. Lichtenstein certainly failed Precious and is herself unable to help her she does lead her to someone who can. We should remember (and I think both the book and the film want us to) that it was the cold-hearted bureaucrat that led Precious to Ms. Rain (who too is part of the system).
I had one final thought that might be worth discussing in class, that of the fades to black in Precious. I found them interesting in that they occurred at specific moments in the film and though we saw nothing, we still heard the action of the film for a few moments before the scene switched. Certainly the fades to black signal the passage of time, but their placement and the continued sound seemed significant. However, I did not get the chance to review where each of these fades occurred and what exactly we heard during them. It might be worth investigating how this contributed to the film’s overall message.
What is especially remarkable about my reaction to the film is that its objectionable content was considerably leaner than the book’s. And thank God for that, because those few scenes, a couple of quick clips, and a spattering of suggestive lines was enough to make me want to wake my sleeping babies and hug them tight for all the other little babies who have no one to ward off the evils of this world.
So how did the film’s leaner content elicit a more emotionally profound response? I can only guess that something about the medium of film was able to overcome the scholarly distance my years of training in literature and writing have taught me to maintain. Written texts to me are literary puzzles and it is my responsibility as an engaged reader (and writer) to solve them. So as difficult as the content of Push was to read I was still able to disengage emotionally enough from it to admire the book as a work of art. The film, on the other hand, really challenged my scholarly objectivity. For instance, Precious’s parents in the book seemed so illogically evil that they remained flat characters, but the film brought them alive in a way the typed text could not and I found myself emotionally engaging with even Precious’s mother. From her daughter’s scrapbook we see that at one time she was a loving and devoted mother and then something changed, and that something was hers and Precious’s abuser. So though Precious’s mother fulfills a common stereotype, by presenting bits and pieces of her story the mother challenges the very stereotype she represents.
Precious herself is also (obviously) a challenge to the stereotype of the welfare-dependent, fat, black woman. At the end of the film Precious rejects her mother, saying she has “outgrown her” and we watch her leave that sad excuse for a woman behind in that sad excuse of a social support system, walking out smiling under the weight of her two children. So though the content of both the book and the film was depressing, its message was not. It was not despair I felt at the end, but rather hope.
So, like the book, the film also challenged stereotypes, even the one of the over-sexed, abusive, subhuman black man filled by Precious’s father. In both the film and the book Carl remained a flat, stereotypical character and its impossible to see him as anything but pure evil. We didn’t even see his face in the film. However, the film did something the book did not, namely provide us with a counter, that of the male nurse. Providing this counter is likely one reason why the birth scene in the book was altered for the big screen. Introducing the male nurse the film gives us a loving, nurturing, and supportive, as well as educated and cultured black man — the exact opposite of Carl.
This is also likely why the birth scene is that of Abdul’s and not Mongo’s. Introducing the male nurse at Abdul’s birth is in keeping with the timeline of the film. It makes sense to present this counter not at the birth of her daughter, but at the birth of her son, which was essentially Precious’s rebirth, as well. In school, learning to read, and expanding her worldview Precious is open to this counter of the educated and loving black man. This gives us hope as Precious faces raising a son as a single mother. She will certainly need all the positive male role models she can find to help her guide her child.
This scene was also changed in one other significant way. Instead of utilizing the metaphor of push as the book did, in the film the male nurse rather rudely (he’s lucky that laboring woman didn’t smack his face) yelled at Precious to stop screaming, which she promptly ignores. It is significant because it fits another of the book (and the film’s) themes, namely the connection between Precious’s motherhood and her voice. The need to protect, educate, and lovingly raise her son forced Precious take on the responsibility of protecting, educating, and lovingly raising herself. Screaming at the male nurse at the moment she became a mother (truly for the first time as it is this birth that inspired maternal feelings) crystallized the moment Precious found her voice and began to find herself.
Another way the film differed from the book was the Christmas scenes following Abdul’s birth, but yet again, these alterations support the film’s (and the book’s) focus on challenging stereotypes. Through the Christmas scenes we get a look at how Precious’s holiday life conflicted with others. Most families (we hope) love and celebrate each other during the holidays, but in Precious’s house they try to kill each other. By presenting Ms. Rain’s home life the film continues to challenge stereotypes even further. Ms. Rain’s “alternative lifestyle choices” produce a healthy, happy family life, which is juxtaposed with the debilitating problems of Precious’s more “traditional” family unit.
I found the film even challenged the stereotype of the heartless education system with its gaping cracks. Precious provided me with a perspective on “democratic” education that Push did not. Mrs. Lichtenstein was certainly a stand in for the U.S. education system, but as much as we can easily criticize her the film did make me realize that as over-burdened and under resourced as socialized education may be in this country, it is still well intentioned. Though Mrs. Lichtenstein certainly failed Precious and is herself unable to help her she does lead her to someone who can. We should remember (and I think both the book and the film want us to) that it was the cold-hearted bureaucrat that led Precious to Ms. Rain (who too is part of the system).
I had one final thought that might be worth discussing in class, that of the fades to black in Precious. I found them interesting in that they occurred at specific moments in the film and though we saw nothing, we still heard the action of the film for a few moments before the scene switched. Certainly the fades to black signal the passage of time, but their placement and the continued sound seemed significant. However, I did not get the chance to review where each of these fades occurred and what exactly we heard during them. It might be worth investigating how this contributed to the film’s overall message.
Sunday, November 14, 2010
Glory
In our discussion of Glory we were asked to consider why Colonel Shaw volunteered the men of the 54th to lead the assault on Fort Wagner. I have wanted to come back to this question for some time as our in-class answer left me wanting.
Our two-minute discussion centered around the idea that African-American men could not expect to be treated like human beings until they proved themselves men. As Rawlins puts it “Times coming when we gone have to ante up, ante up and kick in like men, like men!” In other words, in order to be taken seriously these African-American men had to prove themselves in battle. Unfortunately, there was a hitch to this plan, namely that in 10 months of service the black regiment had seen only one battle and they had to blackmail military officials for the privilege to fight.
By volunteering to lead the charge on Fort Wagner the 54th showed great human dignity and courage in the face of an almost certain death sentence. They proved their dignity by accepting a noble death; by dying like men, they became men. This is, essentially, the answer we came up with in class. It is the right answer, but that makes it no less problematic for me. We have to stop accepting these kinds of answers to these kinds of situations. Why was the only way these men could be seen as men was in death? There is something inherently problematic about that idea. It seems to suggest that the only way one society will recognize the legitimacy of another is through its destruction. But that is a copout for both, because by accepting this statement as reality the latter never has to grow beyond its bigotries because the offender no longer exists, and the former doesn’t have to live in a world where reality seldom meets the ideal. Human beings have to recognize their common humanity sooner than the moment its extinguished and humanity has to stop accepting death as the price of life.
For me this question on Glory had great resonance because it conjured up thoughts of Rwanda, Palestine, and Kosovo. I had to wonder when will we ever learn?
Our two-minute discussion centered around the idea that African-American men could not expect to be treated like human beings until they proved themselves men. As Rawlins puts it “Times coming when we gone have to ante up, ante up and kick in like men, like men!” In other words, in order to be taken seriously these African-American men had to prove themselves in battle. Unfortunately, there was a hitch to this plan, namely that in 10 months of service the black regiment had seen only one battle and they had to blackmail military officials for the privilege to fight.
By volunteering to lead the charge on Fort Wagner the 54th showed great human dignity and courage in the face of an almost certain death sentence. They proved their dignity by accepting a noble death; by dying like men, they became men. This is, essentially, the answer we came up with in class. It is the right answer, but that makes it no less problematic for me. We have to stop accepting these kinds of answers to these kinds of situations. Why was the only way these men could be seen as men was in death? There is something inherently problematic about that idea. It seems to suggest that the only way one society will recognize the legitimacy of another is through its destruction. But that is a copout for both, because by accepting this statement as reality the latter never has to grow beyond its bigotries because the offender no longer exists, and the former doesn’t have to live in a world where reality seldom meets the ideal. Human beings have to recognize their common humanity sooner than the moment its extinguished and humanity has to stop accepting death as the price of life.
For me this question on Glory had great resonance because it conjured up thoughts of Rwanda, Palestine, and Kosovo. I had to wonder when will we ever learn?
Push
The novel “Push” by Sapphire may be read as a rebirth story. In chapter 1, as I stated in my last blog, we get the central metaphor of the novel. Lying on the kitchen floor of her meager apartment, beaten and bloody, Precious clings to the words of a kind stranger as she gives birth to her first child at 12 years old: “Push, Precious, you gonna hafta push.” Perhaps this is how we should read this novel. Finding her voice, finding herself and finding her way is going to be like giving birth — ugly, bloody, and beautiful.
In a sense, Precious has to rebirth herself in order to claim a life for herself. She has to give herself a second chance at life by giving herself a life, beginning with her childhood and the ABCs. In chapter 2 we get a twisted birth scene in which the dreaming Precious takes her infant self away from her abusive mother. She acts as midwife, mother, and teacher to herself in this dream, first delivering herself from her mother, then nurturing the little Precious and finally giving herself the key to her voice — ABCDEF … “Thas the alphabet. Twenty-six letters in all. Them letters make up words. Them words everything,” Precious wrote in her journal in chapter 2.
And when Precious is on the verge of collapse, facing a sad future as an HIV positive victim of sexual abuse, rape and incest with two babies to support, Ms. Rain drives her on, pushing her past her exhaustion:
“‘I’m tired,’ I says.
She says, ‘I know you are but you can’t stop now Precious, you gotta push.’ And I
do” (97).
This scene is heavy with the connotations of labor and birth. Precious has to labor through her exhaustion in order to create meaning out of her cruel world and carve a space for herself within it.
In a sense, Precious has to rebirth herself in order to claim a life for herself. She has to give herself a second chance at life by giving herself a life, beginning with her childhood and the ABCs. In chapter 2 we get a twisted birth scene in which the dreaming Precious takes her infant self away from her abusive mother. She acts as midwife, mother, and teacher to herself in this dream, first delivering herself from her mother, then nurturing the little Precious and finally giving herself the key to her voice — ABCDEF … “Thas the alphabet. Twenty-six letters in all. Them letters make up words. Them words everything,” Precious wrote in her journal in chapter 2.
And when Precious is on the verge of collapse, facing a sad future as an HIV positive victim of sexual abuse, rape and incest with two babies to support, Ms. Rain drives her on, pushing her past her exhaustion:
“‘I’m tired,’ I says.
She says, ‘I know you are but you can’t stop now Precious, you gotta push.’ And I
do” (97).
This scene is heavy with the connotations of labor and birth. Precious has to labor through her exhaustion in order to create meaning out of her cruel world and carve a space for herself within it.
Monday, November 8, 2010
Questions, questions, questions
In many startling ways “Push” is similar to the narratives we have read, but in others it is significantly different. What is most interesting, however, is how those similarities and differences meet, meld and merge.
The most obvious difference is the language and content of the novel “Push.” Jacobs and Douglass would certainly not have directly confronted issues of incest and rape as Precious does. Jacobs’s mere allusion to rape was considered too racy in her time. 150 years later Sapphire is able to blanket her pages in expletives and shocking content.
Furthermore, Jacobs, Wright, and Douglass’s memoirs had the characteristics of an exercise of the intellect whose well-crafted presentation demonstrated their intellectual equality, thus validating their assertions. The novel “Push” not only uses racy language, but also uses it badly, omitting punctuation and littering the text with incorrect spellings. However, despite the questionable grammar, good readers read between the lines and they hear Precious’s powerful, creative voice, just like we heard that of the more polished Jacobs, Wright and Douglass. It also suggests that something so flawed, can still be beautiful.
And finally, “Push” is fiction, while our other texts have all been autobiographical. How does this change how we read and interpret Sapphire’s text? Is it somehow less real and thus less powerful? If not, what elements of fiction lend this story credibility equal to that of a memoir? And what if this is not about credibility at all? What effect does this narrative technique have on us, as readers?
What may be more interesting are the similarities in the novel “Push” to other course content. For instance, Precious’s assertion that “It’s something about being a nigger ain’t color. This nurse same as me. A lot of black people with nurse cap or big car or light skin same as me but don’t know it” (11). This sounds an awful lot like Trip in “Glory.” After more than 150 years of African-American literature this character type still persists and still carries great resonance. That is a depressing thought — after 150 years of freedom African-Americans still do not see themselves as free. What does that say about our modern society?
Another similarity “Push” shares with our previous texts is stolen childhood. Bearing the burden of slavery Douglass and Jacobs were robbed of their childhoods. Confronted daily with the ravages of slavery they had to grow up early. Bearing the consequences of slavery years after its abolishment Wright’s childhood too was blighted. Precious, the victim of physical, emotional, and sexual abuse since she could remember also experienced little of what most would consider a childhood. Her words “Thas a stupid question, did I ever get to be a chile? I am a chile,” force us to confront what it really means to be a child in such an adult world.
And on a complete side note, the central metaphor of the book appeared in Chapter 1. Lying on the kitchen floor of her meager apartment, beaten and bloody, Precious clings to the words of a kind stranger as she gives birth to her first child at 12 years old: “Push, Precious, you gonna hafta push.” Perhaps this is how we should read this novel. Finding her voice, finding herself and finding her way is going to be like giving birth — ugly, bloody, and beautiful.
The most obvious difference is the language and content of the novel “Push.” Jacobs and Douglass would certainly not have directly confronted issues of incest and rape as Precious does. Jacobs’s mere allusion to rape was considered too racy in her time. 150 years later Sapphire is able to blanket her pages in expletives and shocking content.
Furthermore, Jacobs, Wright, and Douglass’s memoirs had the characteristics of an exercise of the intellect whose well-crafted presentation demonstrated their intellectual equality, thus validating their assertions. The novel “Push” not only uses racy language, but also uses it badly, omitting punctuation and littering the text with incorrect spellings. However, despite the questionable grammar, good readers read between the lines and they hear Precious’s powerful, creative voice, just like we heard that of the more polished Jacobs, Wright and Douglass. It also suggests that something so flawed, can still be beautiful.
And finally, “Push” is fiction, while our other texts have all been autobiographical. How does this change how we read and interpret Sapphire’s text? Is it somehow less real and thus less powerful? If not, what elements of fiction lend this story credibility equal to that of a memoir? And what if this is not about credibility at all? What effect does this narrative technique have on us, as readers?
What may be more interesting are the similarities in the novel “Push” to other course content. For instance, Precious’s assertion that “It’s something about being a nigger ain’t color. This nurse same as me. A lot of black people with nurse cap or big car or light skin same as me but don’t know it” (11). This sounds an awful lot like Trip in “Glory.” After more than 150 years of African-American literature this character type still persists and still carries great resonance. That is a depressing thought — after 150 years of freedom African-Americans still do not see themselves as free. What does that say about our modern society?
Another similarity “Push” shares with our previous texts is stolen childhood. Bearing the burden of slavery Douglass and Jacobs were robbed of their childhoods. Confronted daily with the ravages of slavery they had to grow up early. Bearing the consequences of slavery years after its abolishment Wright’s childhood too was blighted. Precious, the victim of physical, emotional, and sexual abuse since she could remember also experienced little of what most would consider a childhood. Her words “Thas a stupid question, did I ever get to be a chile? I am a chile,” force us to confront what it really means to be a child in such an adult world.
And on a complete side note, the central metaphor of the book appeared in Chapter 1. Lying on the kitchen floor of her meager apartment, beaten and bloody, Precious clings to the words of a kind stranger as she gives birth to her first child at 12 years old: “Push, Precious, you gonna hafta push.” Perhaps this is how we should read this novel. Finding her voice, finding herself and finding her way is going to be like giving birth — ugly, bloody, and beautiful.
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
Some random thoughts on Jacobs
While Jacobs is in hiding her Aunt Nancy dies. After a lifetime of childless years brought on by emotional, mental, and physical suffering she is finally laid to rest (not at her mistress’s feet as the slave mistress insensitively wanted) but in her family plot with a service paid for by her free son, made free by the poor woman’s toil. How Mr. and Mrs. Flint could actually believe that Phillip’s actions were in homage to them is beyond me. How can people be so clueless, so oblivious to reality?
One of my favorite lines in Jacobs’s narrative occurred in chapter 29. Stretching her literary muscles in this autobiographical memoir Jacobs’s grandmother becomes a metaphor for the whole oppressed race: “The poor old back was fitted to its burden. It bent under it, but did not break.” This image is iconic and captivating and every time Jacobs’s told another horror story about slavery I had the image of her grandmother’s bent back bearing the weight of a people’s hopes and fears.
Though Jacobs’s novel is directed towards Northern white women, she does not fail to provide some advice to free Northern black women. She seems to give a prescription for how to treat women who have recently come to the North after their escape from slavery — with womanly sympathy. Jacobs tells her story to Mr. Durham soon after her arrival in the North more to unburden her heavy heart than in an effort to solicit help. Afterwards, she worried how much the kind reverend shared with his wife, but Mrs. Durham never said a word about what she might or might not know. Jacobs wrote: “I longed to know whether her husband had repeated to her what I had told him. I supposed he had, but she never made any allusion to it. I presume it was the delicate silence of womanly sympathy.”
Finally, unlike Doglass’s memoir in Jacobs’s we see how the North is not the haven slaves would have had it be: “It made me sad to find how the north aped the customs of slavery,” Jacobs wrote. The use of the word “aped” is particularly striking. It suggests that the North, and the system it “aped,” not the slaves, were less than human and by extension, less than humane.
One of my favorite lines in Jacobs’s narrative occurred in chapter 29. Stretching her literary muscles in this autobiographical memoir Jacobs’s grandmother becomes a metaphor for the whole oppressed race: “The poor old back was fitted to its burden. It bent under it, but did not break.” This image is iconic and captivating and every time Jacobs’s told another horror story about slavery I had the image of her grandmother’s bent back bearing the weight of a people’s hopes and fears.
Though Jacobs’s novel is directed towards Northern white women, she does not fail to provide some advice to free Northern black women. She seems to give a prescription for how to treat women who have recently come to the North after their escape from slavery — with womanly sympathy. Jacobs tells her story to Mr. Durham soon after her arrival in the North more to unburden her heavy heart than in an effort to solicit help. Afterwards, she worried how much the kind reverend shared with his wife, but Mrs. Durham never said a word about what she might or might not know. Jacobs wrote: “I longed to know whether her husband had repeated to her what I had told him. I supposed he had, but she never made any allusion to it. I presume it was the delicate silence of womanly sympathy.”
Finally, unlike Doglass’s memoir in Jacobs’s we see how the North is not the haven slaves would have had it be: “It made me sad to find how the north aped the customs of slavery,” Jacobs wrote. The use of the word “aped” is particularly striking. It suggests that the North, and the system it “aped,” not the slaves, were less than human and by extension, less than humane.
Thoughts on motherhood, self-sacrifice, and selfishness
Jacobs’s memoir was gut wrenching, but I was particularly affected by chapter 22 when Jacobs described that she was unable to crawl out from her hiding place even when mortal sickness took her. She lay there sick and suffering even when her son, bloodied from a dog attack, screamed for his mother. She could not even rise to tend her sick grandmother when she collapsed from the strain of their tenuous position. And I have never understood how one mother can wish another mother’s child dead as Mrs. Flint does in chapter 22. Having born a child and feared for the loss of that little life, she should know better. By showing us this side of slavery, Jacobs makes the slave masters inhuman and the slaves human.
She continues to show the seedy underbelly of this cruel world when the father of her children, a man she initially portrays as semi-upstanding, does not immediately free his own children after purchasing them. Because it is not socially acceptable to do so this future U.S. senator drives the mother of his children to jeopardize all of their freedom to beg him to do the right thing. Even after this desperate plea, he ends up depositing his own daughter with a relative like burdensome, but undiscardable luggage. How could Mr. Sands not free the children the minute he purchased them? How could he stand to hold such a foul thing as the deed to his son’s and daughter’s life for even a second? I remember reading Jacobs’s memoir in 5th grade and I couldn’t comprehend such cruelty as a child and now as a grown woman and mother I still don’t understand it today. Such selfishness and self-centeredness is just beyond my understanding.
In direct contrast there is Jacobs, sacrificing life and limb to better her children’s lives while their own father is more worried about his reputation. In chapter 25 when Jacobs drops in the “I have been here five years” I gasped (I remember gasping like that as a little 10-year-old )! For five years she has opted to live in a “dungeon” so that she and her children may be free. Talk about personal sacrifice and possessing the will to be free. And I cannot believe it took her nearly 7 years to escape from the South and when an opportunity came she initially passed it up for the sake of her children and in deference to the plight of another poor soul.
What struck me was Jacobs’s complete selflessness in a system that breeds selfishness. When her brother, William, jumps at an opportunity for freedom Jacobs’s gently rebukes herself for thinking of how his actions might impact her children’s chance for freedom. Jacobs’s words were a slap to my own face because I too silently chided William for putting himself before the interests of his nephew and niece. As a mother I asked myself how such a loving uncle could risk their freedom for his own and then the answer was made simple; for this abominable institution to work it has to be everyone for themselves. A chance for freedom is so rare that when it presents itself you have to take it and those left behind must simply rejoice in that lucky twist of fate and pray that their time will come. What a horrible thing that the cost of freedom is family. What a horrible thing that one must put oneself ahead of all others. Sad that such an institution breeds such necessary selfishness.
And in the end William ends up being more honorable than Mr. Sands, who failed to free his own children and thus likely would not have freed William even though he said he “intended to give him his freedom in five years.” William doesn’t even steal from his master in order to attain his freedom. He buys it with the clothes on his back. I was saddened to see Mr. Sands fail to rise above Southern ideologies but as Jacobs pointed out slavery corrupts all involved. She wrote, “surely there must be some justice in man; then I remembered, with a sigh, how slavery perverted all the natural feelings of the human heart.”
She continues to show the seedy underbelly of this cruel world when the father of her children, a man she initially portrays as semi-upstanding, does not immediately free his own children after purchasing them. Because it is not socially acceptable to do so this future U.S. senator drives the mother of his children to jeopardize all of their freedom to beg him to do the right thing. Even after this desperate plea, he ends up depositing his own daughter with a relative like burdensome, but undiscardable luggage. How could Mr. Sands not free the children the minute he purchased them? How could he stand to hold such a foul thing as the deed to his son’s and daughter’s life for even a second? I remember reading Jacobs’s memoir in 5th grade and I couldn’t comprehend such cruelty as a child and now as a grown woman and mother I still don’t understand it today. Such selfishness and self-centeredness is just beyond my understanding.
In direct contrast there is Jacobs, sacrificing life and limb to better her children’s lives while their own father is more worried about his reputation. In chapter 25 when Jacobs drops in the “I have been here five years” I gasped (I remember gasping like that as a little 10-year-old )! For five years she has opted to live in a “dungeon” so that she and her children may be free. Talk about personal sacrifice and possessing the will to be free. And I cannot believe it took her nearly 7 years to escape from the South and when an opportunity came she initially passed it up for the sake of her children and in deference to the plight of another poor soul.
What struck me was Jacobs’s complete selflessness in a system that breeds selfishness. When her brother, William, jumps at an opportunity for freedom Jacobs’s gently rebukes herself for thinking of how his actions might impact her children’s chance for freedom. Jacobs’s words were a slap to my own face because I too silently chided William for putting himself before the interests of his nephew and niece. As a mother I asked myself how such a loving uncle could risk their freedom for his own and then the answer was made simple; for this abominable institution to work it has to be everyone for themselves. A chance for freedom is so rare that when it presents itself you have to take it and those left behind must simply rejoice in that lucky twist of fate and pray that their time will come. What a horrible thing that the cost of freedom is family. What a horrible thing that one must put oneself ahead of all others. Sad that such an institution breeds such necessary selfishness.
And in the end William ends up being more honorable than Mr. Sands, who failed to free his own children and thus likely would not have freed William even though he said he “intended to give him his freedom in five years.” William doesn’t even steal from his master in order to attain his freedom. He buys it with the clothes on his back. I was saddened to see Mr. Sands fail to rise above Southern ideologies but as Jacobs pointed out slavery corrupts all involved. She wrote, “surely there must be some justice in man; then I remembered, with a sigh, how slavery perverted all the natural feelings of the human heart.”
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