On Nat Turner and the horrible ferocity of these monsters

October 8, 2016

This weekends box office welcomes Nate Parkers Birth of a Nation to theaters. I use quotation
marks to denote the fact that the subject of the film-- Nat Turners Rebellion-- has rarely been a
welcomed feature of our broader-- and typically whiter-- American discourse. The public
consciousness seldom remembers Turner, and when it does he is not remembered in a traditionally
honorary or celebratory fashion.
There is, to my knowledge, no statue dedicated to Turner or his rebellion in our home state of
Virginia. His memory is not generally preserved in textbooks. He is a prime example of a cult hero
that American history has tried to forget. But Parkers new film will not allow that to happen. In fact, it
is bound to bring up a difficult conversation about political violence-- one that is likely far too
nuanced for the American public given the subpar quality of our normal political discourse, a
discourse that seems intent on denying the realities of implicit bias and structural racism, and
instead embraces the idea that those who discuss racism are the real racists.
Still, I found it difficult not to think about Turner this summer, as nationwide protests filled the streets
to combat the many problems within our criminal (in)justice system. Although civilian violence has
not been a hallmark of the nearly 1,500 BLM protests over the past two+ years-- perhaps to the
disappointment of those Americans who waited with bated breath for violence to boil over, so that
they could justify a predetermined narrative that diminishes the anguish of the Black community-- it
was an isolated incident of targeted, violent rage in Dallas, by an individual working outside the
broader social movement, that made the largest waves this summer. Similarly, though the share of
protesters who engage in the destruction of property is but a tiny fraction of participants, images of
smashed windows and raging fires remain a perversion of the public imagination. In the wake of
such events, our media, our politicians and our activists trot out the standard trope asserting that
violence is never the answer. Then I think about Turner.
If violence is never the answer, then why celebrate the Fourth of July? Why is the street that I work
on littered with statues dedicated to men who valiantly waged a war dedicated to the preservation of
the most violent institution this country has ever known? If destruction of property is an abomination
to American values, why, then, do we celebrate the Boston Tea Party? Why, in fact, are so many of
the people who verbally attack the morality and legitimacy of rioting protesters the very same
individuals who founded a twenty-first century political movement named after Bostons eighteenthcentury rebels?
In response to the slave revolt, the August 30th 1831 edition of the Richmond Enquirer wrote that
what strikes us as the most remarkable thing in this matter is the horrible ferocity of these
monsters-- monsters led by Turner, who was described as being artful, impudent and vindictive,
without any cause or provocation. But Turner and his co-conspirators had cause and provocation:
they were not free; they sought the same liberty that previous generations had used to justify a call
to arms, and the same liberty that we continue to celebrate today, only they were literally enslaved at
the time-- ripped away from their families, sold to the highest bidder, and forced to labor under
severe duress so that others could profit. What justification, then, exists for casting him as anything
but a hero? I suspect one refrain might go like this: American Revolutionaries had fought only British
soldiers, and they did so only after diplomacy and politics had failed; Turner and his rebellion killed
indiscriminately, and could have waited for a peaceful resolution within Congress. Yet, no peaceful

resolution came. An estimated 50,000 civilians died during the throes of Americas Civil War, a war
that proved necessary precisely because diplomacy had failed, yet again, within political institutions
that denied any voice and any power to the men in Turners rebellion. Violence was the only viable
tool in Turners tool belt; if a non-violent solution was to be found, the only people with the tools to
make it happen were those who were eventually forced to pick up their weapons anyway. Why, then,
do we memorialize the men who figured this out thirty-four years after Turner did, and who couldnt
make proper, peaceful use of their positions of power, while relegating Turner to near oblivion in our
nations collective public consciousness?
If a historical equivocation doesnt trigger cognitive dissonance, perhaps modern examples will. We
dont negotiate with terrorists. We use violence to hunt them and destroy them. And, in the wake of
that violence, we kill civilians. The Obama administration recently released a report estimating
between 64 and 116 civilian deaths due to drone attacks in Pakistan, Yemen and northern Africa
since he took over the controls as Commander in Chief. The report was released immediately before
Americans headed to the beach for the Fourth of July weekend. This is what we call burying a story.
And yet, I cant help but think that we prefer it this way-- that we prefer to remain comfortably
oblivious to this collateral damage. Because this report-- a report that did not factor in civilian deaths
in active war zones like Afghanistan, Iraq and Syria-- indicates that, even at the low end of the
administrations estimate, more civilians have been killed under Obamas command than on
Turners.
U.S.-led airstrikes have, in the last 12 months alone, killed and injured scores of civilians and
humanitarians. We accidentally leveled a hospital in Afghanistan. We admitted to carrying out a
strike that accidentally killed Syrian government troops-- an action that initially seemed to be pure,
fabrications of Russian propaganda. And we have, under a banner of stars and stripes, pulverized
entire families (Washington Post) when we mistook scores of men, women and children who were
fleeing the Islamic State for those very same fighters. And though these actions took place under a
Democratic president, our unabashed use of such violence to weed out the terrorists, even in the
wake of collateral damage, seems to be one of the few points of bipartisan consensus in
Washington. Democratic politicians rhetoric indicates that such collateral damage is unfortunate-not unconscionable, not something to be avoided at all costs. On the other side of the aisle, the
Republican Partys presidential nominee has shown few qualms about such practices, repeatedly
insinuating that in order to win the War on Terrorism we must take out their families. Violence, it
seems, is a bipartisan solution.
This post, however, is not an endorsement of political violence; it is an exploration of our public
response to political violence, in pursuit of consistency. And, when put into the larger context of
violence in the United States, evaluating such actions, it turns out, seems to be far easier from a
utilitarian front than from any other ethical starting point. From a utilitarian standpoint, it is fairly easy
to accept that, yes, in fact, sometimes violence may be a solution; violence may be the answer. And
we, as Americans, tend to accept this argument daily, whether we do so consciously or not.
If we hold up Turners armed rebellion to a utilitarian-lens, it is easy to dismiss it as
counterproductive, since the Virginia state legislatures response to the rebellion was to adopt even
stricter Black Codes, and since many Virginians took it upon themselves to seek vigilante justice.
However, our politicians and intelligence officers often acknowledge that our current military
operations may actually aid radical propaganda efforts. And despite such claims of
counterproductivity, the strikes remain. Collateral damage remains. And, yes, the successful
targeting and assassinations of known terrorists also remain. Even when we hit our target, its still

the perpetuation of violence. As a nation, we seem to be content with this sort of violence, even if we
acknowledge that it may, at times, be counterproductive. The same degree of latitude has not been
lent to the historical memory of Turner and his men.
If we turn our attention to the aforementioned assassination of police in Dallas, it is also easy to see
how evaluating such actions on utilitarian terms leads to a unified condemnation of the attacks. The
death of police officers are unlikely to bring about the desired changes demanded by supporters of
police reform. Instead, it is feasible that the fears stoked by such actions will actually make the
relationship between police and civilians more contentious, and that the fears stoked by such actions
will sweep law and order conservatives to electoral victories in November. The act of shooting a
police officer is, therefore, completely antithetical to the assumed goals of those pulling the trigger.
The Black Lives Matter movement condemned the attacks. Liberal commentators condemned the
attacks. There were no # AllLivesMatter hashtags popping up to counter every # BlueLivesMatter
hashtag. In another rare point of consensus, our nation seems to be on the same page: dont shoot
police officers. The eye-for-an-eye sentiment embodied by a system of reciprocal justice seems to
fall flat on American ears when the men and women being killed have not, themselves, been found
guilty of any of the alleged grievances of police brutality. But, to an individual convinced of the
righteousness of their violence, such dismissals will likely be returned in favor. Thats because it can
be quite easy to convince yourself of the moral weight of violence, a righteousness aided by the
permeation and reverence of violence in our national holidays and our political rhetoric.
The affinity to which we hold our second amendment rights, under the pretense that at some point
we may be called upon to bear down the tyranny of a corrupt government, only reinforces our
dedication to violence as a possible solution. This is, after all, the chorus that rings out anytime
Obama entertains the possibility of increased gun control measures. Of course, no politician has
sent officers into our homes to confiscate our weaponry, whereas officers have been protected by a
criminal (in)justice system that licenses and rewards racially discriminatory practices, which when
taken together, terrorize communities across this nation. Despite that, all but a few Americans, of all
colors and creeds, pull back their punches. They protest within the system, even though they dont
fully trust the system, and even though the system hasnt done anything to earn that trust. And that is
because most Americans acknowledge that they still have something to lose. Martyrdom doesnt
appeal to those who feel some degree of hope, and although minority communities would be
warranted to feel otherwise, Black Americans have indicated the highest levels of optimism in the
country over the last year (Brookings Institution).
In Nat Turners case, however, it is not hard to imagine why death would be deemed a lesser
punishment than slavery. Rhetorically, Americans have always celebrated some vision of martyrdom.
Patrick Henrys famous give me liberty or give me death speech remains so endeared to us, and
so entrenched in our understanding of the American spirit, that the location of that speech is
enshrined in Virginias history with celebratory reenactments right here in Richmond. Again, Nat
Turner is not afforded such admiration. But like Henry, Turner heralded liberty above all else, and in
doing so referred to a much more literal version of liberty than did Henry. His final words-- before
being flayed, beheaded and quartered-- suggest as much, calling attention once again to Americas
devotion to righteous martyrdom, by citing Christ himself: when asked whether he regretted his
actions, Turner is recorded as having replied, was Christ not crucified? It would not be surprising to
learn that the Dallas sniper-- an army veteran who, like other veterans, had been celebrated when
the violence was targeted elsewhere-- held similar sentiments.

Where Turners case seems most inclined to fall apart on moral grounds, is not that civilians were
killed, in general, but that some of those civilians-- most notably women and children-- were also
denied the political rights necessary to constitute the change he so desperately sought. But, today, in
2016, as citizens of this country roundly brag about the great character of our nation, including all the
rights and freedoms that we are guaranteed, it should pierce our souls knowing that so many abuses
continue to pervade the way our government operates. We boast of our nations dedication to due
process and the Rule of Law, and yet our officers routinely fall in line behind the thin blue line. We
boast that we have the power to do so much good, and yet we squander those opportunities,
allowing discrimination to fester, until we can no longer look the other way. Should our boasts and
brags be believed, it would seem that Americans are uniquely positioned to make political change
when motivated to do so, and so the fact that change has not yet occurred, despite the constant
documentation of racism across social and political institutions, betrays our dedication to the
concepts of life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. It could be conceived, by an impartial jury, that
our American celebrations do no more than preach a hollow gospel.
To offer this reasoning as justification for political violence is, of course, is an incredibly slippery
slope. Taken to its extremes, this moral reasoning is capable of apologizing not only for the
assassinations of police officers, but also for violent riots (violence as defined by injured persons, not
injured property), and even terrorism. The logic-- if sound-- elevates all citizens to a position of
power, thereby elevating all citizens to a position of responsibility. If we are culpable for the actions
of our government, it makes everyone fair game. Civilian or not, we are not collateral damage; we
are part of the problem. But not only is this reasoning a slippery slope, it also fails to acknowledge
important political truths: nothing in politics in unanimous, presence within an institution or a political
body does not necessitate belonging and inclusion, nor does it necessitate a dedication to the
majority, to obedience or to the status quo, and the strength of our democracy is routinely
undermined as the will and voice of the people are shouted down by campaign contributions and
drowned out by hyper-partisanship. In short, Im not convinced that the logic is sound. Still, we dont
seem to apply this much thought to most acts of political violence. When our military kills an innocent
civilian we make excuses; certainly a woman in Afghanistan lacks even the tiniest fraction of social
capital and political clout as you or I possess.
In fact, the only time that we hear cheers for non-violence is when marginalized groups try to make
change through means outside the established political system-- a system that actively stymies their
participation through more legitimate economic and political means. What seems to be lost in these
conversations is that citizens adoption of non-violence has often been in contrast with the
reactionary behavior of the law. The 1960s Civil Rights Era should not be remembered for nonviolence, but for the unapologetic use of violence by police who used billy clubs, dogs, water hoses,
and guns to beat down civilly disobedient, albeit non-violent, protesters, and for the unbridled use of
violence by citizens who smiled gleefully for the camera as limp Black bodies swayed from trees, or
as the foul smell of a supposedly inferior human flesh rose up from a pyre. As the Civil Rights
movement became more contentious American public opinion scolded the now-revered, albeit whitewashed, Martin Luther King, Jr. for making trouble-- his unfavorability rating jumped 22%, from 46%
to 68% between 1963 and 1966. The bloody March on Selma occurred in 1965, and while many
Americans were moved by pictures of police violence on their screen, public opinion toward the
police remained largely unscathed-- in 1965, one month after the March on Selma, 70% of
Americans still reported respecting the police in their area (Gallup). Historically, then, even nonviolence has been met with disapproval. Today that trend continues; Colin Kapernicks embrace of

the power of peaceful protest has been met with outright hostility-- a hostility that attempts to deny
Black America of yet another tool that the rest of the country wields freely.
Again, this post isnt an endorsement of political violence. It is meant to be an exploration of our
public reaction to political violence, in the search of some consistency. And yet, the only thing
consistent about our reaction to political violence is that we condemn it when we dont agree with it-especially when it strains the status quo, and when it puts our own socio-economic security at peril-and we excuse it, often justifying its use with utilitarian arguments, when we do agree with it-especially when it is purported to protect us. We maintain faith in the strength of our national
character and our institutions when it suits us, while denying such faith to those we victimize. The
only thing consistent when discussing political violence is our hypocritical inconsistencies.
So if theres one thing I am endorsing it is this: let's be consistent, lets erect a statue to Nat Turner
here in Richmond; he deserves a heros welcome, too.