Despite
the Civil War ending over 150 years ago with a Union victory, events in
Charlottesville, VA and debates over Confederate statues affirm that indeed the
cultural wars spawned from the conflict remain with us today. BEN BUTLER provides a timely,
historically significant drama that echoes the persistence of what W.E.B.
DuBois coined, “...the problem of the color-line...” While this
play captures the set of negotiations that informed the decision that
ultimately secured a Union victory – that is, welcoming black people into the
war effort so they too could fight to end slavery - the themes of the play
ask critical questions about race and race relations in this country.
African
Americans have provided valiant contributions to every military conflict that
earmarks United States nationhood. From the Revolutionary War forward, Black
people have fought and died for a country that, from its inception codified
race-based slavery, later recognized Jim Crow segregation, and still fails to
resolve racial inequalities in many arenas. From the Colonial Era through the
Civil War, the impetus to fight was always freedom and emancipation. After the
abolition of slavery, African American participation in military conflicts
hinged on the belief that fighting for one’s country would lead to socio-political
and socio-economic equality. While many have documented and heralded these
patriotic feats and acts of heroism, public awareness of these contributions
remains desperately low. The Civil War, however, was a particularly important
fight given what was at stake. Despite the incessant denials of Union leaders,
led by President Lincoln, African Americans knew the Civil War was a fight over
slavery and therefore over their status as people. BEN BUTLER provides a glimpse into the decision that
ultimately gave the Union army its greatest weapons; 4 million people who had
intimate knowledge of the enemy, and a tireless commitment to throw off the
shackles of slavery for good. This exchange between Shepard Mallory and General
Butler highlights the historic moment:
MALLORY.
General, all I’m saying is that we’ve been trained to build fortifications. We
can do that facing north or we can do that facing south. The uniform and the
gun and standing alongside your troops, well, that part is up to you.
BUTLER.
You are delusional. Do you know that?
MALLORY.
We can stay here and help to kill Virginians or you can send us back where we
will help to kill you. We want to stay here and help you kill Virginians. That
doesn’t seem too delusional to me. That’s just good sense.
Prior to the
full welcoming of African Americans into the war effort in 1863, a Union
victory remained elusive. The addition of African
American servicemen, and Black women in various roles, eventually
helped secure a Union victory.
But
wartime participation was never a guarantee of full citizenship, especially
during the Civil War. In fact, in 1861 African American status before the law
was dictated by the pernicious Dredd Scott decision in which it was
determined that black people were not and never had been considered citizens of
the United States. Contrary to collective imaginings about enslaved people,
they were certainly aware of these legal developments and understood that the
ending of slavery necessarily included citizenship. Much like the War for
Independence, or even WWII as a war against fascism, wartime service was a
direct indication of one’s commitment to the nation and therefore ought to
include fundamental rights. BEN
BUTLER recognizes the ways African Americans navigated the Civil War with an
eye on the prize of full citizenship, which to them was synonymous with
freedom.
MALLORY.
So, I am not a slave and I’m not a free man….What should I say I am?
BUTLER.
Why do you have to say you are anything? I don’t walk around telling people I’m
a Presbyterian. Just keep your mouth shut.
MALLORY.
Yes, sir. I will do that, sir. And thank you, sir.
BUTLER.
“Thank you”? For what?
MALLORY.
Thank you for, well, for interpreting the law and applying it in such a good
way to this particular situation. Thank you, sir.
BUTLER.
You really have nothing to thank me for. Your situation is not improved over
what it was when you were at Sewell’s Point.
MALLORY.
Maybe things aren’t a lot different than they were. But they’re a little different.
Just a little. Just a little bit better. When you are counting on favors from
white men, I’ve learned not to expect too much.
This
exchange also reminds us of the tension between a people daring to be free
citizens, and another people who cannot imagine them free, nor as equals before
the law. One of the core challenges presented by race and racism rests in the
negotiation around Black identity. And it is in this nexus between race and
identity where W.E.B. DuBois’ classic work remains so poignant. The legendary
scholar wrote, “...the Negro is...born with a veil, and gifted with
second-sight in this American world, - a world which yields him no true
self-consciousness, but only lets him see himself through the revelation of the
other world....One ever feels his two- ness, - and American, a Negro: two
souls, two thoughts, two unreconciled strivings; two warring ideals in one dark
body....” This “double-consciousness” where Black people traverse two worlds,
one as Black Americans, the other as Black people who live in America, has been
protective and made space for revolutionary undertakings. It is witnessed in
the performative acquiescence that kept slave owners unaware of slave
resistance and revolts; in the formation of Black institutions that softened
the blow of Jim Crow and also served as anchors during the Civil Rights
Movement; and even in the cultural productivity that hid the nuances woven into
Negro spirituals, or in the brash, social commentary of hip hop lyricism.
Throughout the play, Mallory has to craftily mask his revolutionary self to
keep Butler at ease. The fugitive slave had learned this performance throughout
his life as a bondsman. Yet, despite having to perform he nonetheless
manufactured a reservoir of human dignity. This nuance is captured here by
legendary author Ralph Ellison in his haunting work Invisible Man, “I am
not complaining, nor am I protesting either. It is sometimes advantageous to be
unseen, although it is most often rather wearing on the nerves.” A similar
commentary is found in this exchange between Butler and Mallory:
BUTLER.
Mr. Mallory, may I ask you a question?
MALLORY.
You’re the general. Seems to me you can do pretty much anything you want. Isn’t
that the way it works?
BUTLER.
Most of the time.
MALLORY.
So ask me.
BUTLER.
Are all Negroes like you?
MALLORY.
(Takes a moment to consider how he should answer.) Yes, sir. Every
one of us is exactly the same. I’m glad you noticed that.
BUTLER.
You are making sport of me.
MALLORY.
No, sir. I’m just letting you know that once you’ve met one Negro, there is
really no point in meeting another one. Don’t even waste your time.
BEN BUTLER uses history
to force us to consider our nation’s past, and how its remnants shape
our present. It revisits the Civil War, when the nation
was nearly torn asunder, and in doing so reminds us of the toll
paid along the paths of liberty and democracy. It dares us to
remember that African American contributions were central to winning the
Civil War, out of which the 13th, 14th and 15th
Amendments were born. It requires us to consider the meanings and preservation
of identity in the face of daunting attacks on one’s true self. And in our
city, like many other cities across this nation, BEN BUTLER dares communities
to embrace the distinct wounds that are the progeny of our nation’s
failings with racial equality.
Robert S. Smith is the director of the Center for Urban Research, Teaching & Outreach at Marquette University.