Like
most people, I learn the meaning of words and terms by hearing how
they are used. I suppose that's the usual way people learn any
language. Should I be angry with myself, then, that I've long had
the wrong impression of the term, “Uncle Tom”? I've always
understood the phrase to be a term of derision. Usually, it is
spoken by black people to insult other black people where the first
group accuses the latter of “acting white.” I know that Clarence
Thomas was called an “Uncle Tom” when he was being considered for
the Supreme Court. Congressman, J. C. Watts has often been called an
“Uncle Tom” for being a conservative Republican. Any black
person who isn't a card-carrying, liberal Democrat is called an
“Uncle Tom.” It's a term reserved by blacks for blacks who don't act black
enough.
From
the way the term has been used, I had the impression that Uncle Tom
was a mousy, smarmy character who would suck up to white people in an
effort to ingratiate himself into their favor. I considered him a
snake of a person, similar to the cliché fink portrayed in prison
movies. You know the type – the weasel-looking inmate who would
squeal on fellow prisoners in hopes of earning special treatment
from the guards. Such characters usually only win loathing from
everyone.
Perhaps
I should not be too hard on myself for not knowing that the fictional
character of Uncle Tom portrayed in the book, Uncle Tom's Cabin,
bears no resemblance to the rat-fink I had in my mind's eye. After
all, when liberals use the term, “Uncle Tom,” they usually mean
it in precisely the same way I understood it. I suspect rather that
it's those who hurl the term who are ignorant of the true nature of
the literary character.
I've
read a lot of books in the past including many of the classics but as
is always the case, there are far more books that I haven't read than
I've read. Uncle Tom's Cabin happens to be one of the books I hadn't
read until recently. That's too bad. It's a treasure that I wish I
could have cherished decades ago.
The
book surely gored many sacred cows of its time. Certainly the
southern slave owners were exposed for their crimes against slaves –
both the “good” masters and “bad” masters. This book also
shone a light on the complacent abolitionists of the north who spoke
openly against the scourge that was slavery but did very little else
but speak. Much blame was also (justly) laid to the charge of the
churches in that day. Perhaps the worst offenders were those
churches who endorsed slavery as a part of the divine order of things
but other churches were equally culpable by walking a fence on the
issue – not endorsing slavery but neither condemning the white
slave owners in their congregations. The book gave a most insightful
glimpse into the plethora of attitudes that existed on every side of
the issue.
The
hero of the story was, of course, Uncle Tom, who, throughout the
book, moved from master to master (three in total). The masters
ranged in attitude from the most benevolent to the most malign but
each was used in such a way as to show the injustice of slavery.
Throughout his trials, Tom was a model of Christian character: His
honesty and integrity won the confidence of many who knew him, he
always concerned himself with the salvation of those around him –
slave or master, and he relentlessly sought instruction from the
Bible.
As I
read, I sometimes thought of Tom as a picture of Joseph and at one
point in the book, Tom also intimated the same thought about himself.
As the book progressed, however, I saw Tom as much more like Christ than
Joseph. Toward the end of the book, two slave girls had planned
their escape from the wicked, Simon Legree. Legree intended to learn
the details of the escape from Tom. Read this edited version of the
encounter:
Tom
heard the message with a forewarning heart; for he knew all the plan
of the fugitives' escape, and the place of their present concealment;
- he knew the deadly character of the man he had to deal with, and
his despotic power. But he felt strong in God to meet death, rather
than betray the helpless.
He
sat his basket down by the row, and, looking up, said, "Into thy
hands I commend my spirit! Thou hast redeemed me, oh Lord God of
truth!" and then quietly yielded himself to the rough, brutal
grasp with which Quimbo seized him....
"Well,
Tom!" said Legree, walking up, and seizing him grimly by the
collar of his coat, and speaking through his teeth, in a paroxysm of
determined rage, "do you know I've made up my mind to kill you?"
"It's
very likely, Mas'r," said Tom, calmly.
"I
have," said Legree, with a grim, terrible calmness, "done -
just - that - thing, Tom, unless you'll tell me what you know about
these yer gals!"
Tom
stood silent.
"D'ye
hear?" said Legree, stamping, with a roar like that of an
incensed lion. "Speak!"
"I
han't got nothing to tell, Mas'r," said Tom, with a slow, firm,
deliberate utterance.
"Do
you dare to tell me, ye old black Christian, ye don't know?"
said Legree.
Tom
was silent.
"Speak!"
thundered Legree, striking him furiously. Do you know anything?"
"I
know, Mas'r; but I can't tell anything. I can die!"
Legree
drew in a long breath; and, suppressing his rage, took Tom by the
arm, and, approaching his face almost to his, said, in a terrible
voice, "…. You've always stood it out again' me: now, I'll
conquer ye, or kill ye! - one or t' other. I'll count every drop of
blood there is in you, and take 'em, one by one, till ye give up!"
It
was but a moment. There was one hesitating pause, - one irresolute,
relenting thrill, - and the spirit of evil came back, with seven-fold
vehemence; and Legree, foaming with rage, smote his victim to the
ground.
Scenes
of blood and cruelty are shocking to our ear and heart. What man has
nerve to do, man has not nerve to hear. What brother-man and
brother-Christian must suffer, cannot be told us, even in our secret
chamber, it so harrows the soul! And yet, oh my country! these things
are done under the shadow of thy laws! O, Christ! thy church sees
them, almost in silence!
But,
of old, there was One whose suffering changed an instrument of
torture, degradation and shame, into a symbol of glory, honor, and
immortal life; and, where His spirit is, neither degrading stripes,
nor blood, nor insults, can make the Christian's last struggle less
than glorious.
Was
he alone, that long night, whose brave, loving spirit was bearing up,
in that old shed, against buffeting and brutal stripes?
Nay!
There stood by him one, - seen by him alone, - "like unto the
Son of God."
The
tempter stood by him, too, - blinded by furious, despotic will, -
every moment pressing him to shun that agony by the betrayal of the
innocent. But the brave, true heart was firm on the Eternal Rock.
Like his Master, he knew that, if he saved others, himself he could
not save; nor could utmost extremity wring from him words, save of
prayers and holy trust.
There
is much about Tom that is worthy of emulation. In many ways – in
every way, really – he was superior to the white men who owned him
yet he carried himself with sincere humility. The quiet strength of
his testimony won many to Christ. He even prayed for Simon Legree
while he was being beaten to death.
I'm
not sure why his name has come to be such an insult. I wish I could
be more like him.
