As the credits began to role at the Friday night showing of 12 Years a Slave, I did not stand up to leave. As some of those around me jumped to their feet, expressing loudly how amazed they were, I sat in my chair. When eventually I found myself outside, I heard others go from lauding the movie to cracking jokes about situations in the film that clearly made them too uncomfortable to admit or which, perhaps, they had just failed to understand. I felt drained of all emotion. I thought about 12 Years a Slave all the way home, up until the moment I fell asleep. I have continued to contemplate the film up to this very day.
Recently, I have found I am more empathetic with the stories of other people’s lives: by default, I place myself in others’ shoes. I have always been able to continue watching, listening or reading when things become painful or uncomfortable, which I have observed to be quite the contrary for many others. With 12 Years a Slave however, there were multiple instances, where, instinctually, I gazed away from the screen. It was beautiful, excruciating, haunting and not at all easy to watch.
I’ve reflected a great deal upon slavery since the film, and why this film had such a profound impact on me. For one, I have felt a large amount of what can only be described as shame, for the color of my skin. I am white. And although the movie portrayed black slaves who had risen to positions of relative power, where they could give orders to other slaves, ultimately, the slave transporters, sellers, and buyers were all white, like me. It has only been about one hundred and fifty years since the Emancipation Proclamation of 1863 and even after that it took many years after the Civil War for slavery to “effectively” end. The wound dealt by the act of slavery, performed by humans on other humans remains fresh. Open and grotesque acts of discrimination and racism are still common in the United States, such as the indiscriminate frisking of young African American men, as well as across the globe. In the United States, nearly one third of African American males are under some form of criminal justice supervision, even though African American males and females make up only 13 percent of the total population.
In 12 Years a Slave many white people were resolutely lacking in respect for all races with the exception of their own; but all expressed this in different ways and with different levels of intensity, from the whipping of Patsey for a bar of soap, to Solomon’s first “master” gifting him with a violin to keep him company “through the years”. Is it the way one is brought up which defines his or her humanity or even their freedom of consciousness? Is it simply economic status? Is it one’s religion? Is there any part of our morality which remains constant, indifferent to circumstance? These are all questions the film engendered within me. If even the unnecessary death of a bug bothers me, would I not find the sight of forced labor coupled with excessive capital punishment something to not only protest but to fight against?
Amidst the meaningless mass of generic, box-office hits with themes of faux romance and fantastic action, 12 Years a Slave touched upon deep and troubling human truths of the past and of the present, especially in America.