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292 pages, Paperback
First published September 4, 1997
What interests me are the ways we are called upon to participate in such scenes [in reference to scenes of violent abuse against black slaves]. Are we witnesses who confirm the truth of what happened in the face of the world-destroying capacities of pain, the distortions of torture, the sheer unrepresentability of terror, and the repression of the dominant accounts? Or are we voyeurs fascinated with and repelled by exhibitions of terror and sufferance? What does the exposure of the violated body yield? Proof of black sentience or the inhumanity of the''peculiar institution"? Or does the pain of the other merely provide us with the opportunity for self-reflection? (3-4)
Therefore, rather than try to convey the routinized violence of slavery and its
aftermath through invocations of the shocking and the terrible, I have chosen to look elsewhere and consider those scenes in which terror can hardly be discerned-slaves dancing in the quarters, the outrageous darky antics of the minstrel stage, the institution of humanity in slave law, and the fashioning of the self-possessed individual. By defamiliarizing the familiar, I hope to illuminate the terror of the mundane and quotidian rather than exploit the shocking spectacle. (4)
So intent and determined is Rankin to establish that slaves possess the same nature and feelings as himself, and thereby establish the common humanity of all men on the basis of this extended suffering, that he literally narrates an imagined scenario in which he, along with his wife and child, is enslaved. The "horrible scenes of cruelty that were presented to [his] mind" as a consequence of this imagining aroused the ''highest pitch of indignant feeling." In addition, this scenario enables Rankin to speak not only for but literally in the place of the enslaved. (18)
Yet empathy in important respects confounds Rankin's efforts to identify with the enslaved because in making the slave's suffering his own, Rankin begins to feel for himself rather than for those whom this exercise in imagination presumably is designed to reach. Moreover, by exploiting the vulnerability of the captive body as a vessel for the uses, thoughts, and feelings of others, the humanity extended to the slave inadvertently confirms the expectations and desires definitive of the relations of chattel slavery. By making the suffering of others his own, has Rankin ameliorated indifference or only confirmed the difficulty of understanding the suffering of the enslaved? Can the white witness of the spectacle of suffering affirm the materiality of black sentience only by feeling for himself? Does this not only exacerbate the idea that black sentience is inconceivable and unimaginable but in the very ease of possessing the abased and enslaved body, ultimately elide an understanding and acknowledgment of the slave's pain? Beyond evidence of slavery's crime,what does this exposure of the suffering body of the bondsman yield? Does this not reinforce the "thingly' quality of the captive by reducing the body to evidence in the very effort to establish the humanity of the enslaved? Does it not reproduce the hyperembodiness of the powerless? The purpose of these inquiries is not to cast doubt on Rankin's motives for recounting these events but to consider the precariousness of empathy and the thin line between witness and spectator. In the fantasy of being beaten, Rankin must substitute himself and his wife and children for the black captive in order that this pain be perceived and experienced. So, in fact, Rankin becomes a proxy and the other's pain is acknowledged to the degree that it can be imagined, yet by virtue of this substitution the object of identification threatens to disappear. In order to convince the reader of the horrors of slavery, Rankin must volunteer himself and his family for abasement. Put differently, the effort to counteract the commonplace callousness to black suffering requires that the white body be positioned in the place of the black body in order to make this suffering visible and intelligible. Yet if this violence can become palpable and indignation can be fully aroused only through the masochistic fantasy, then it becomes clear that empathy is double-edged, for in making the other's suffering one's own, this suffering is occluded by the other's obliteration. Given the litany of horrors that fill Rankin's pages, this recourse to fantasy reveals an anxiety about making the slave's suffering legible.This anxiety is historically determined by the denial of black sentience, the slave's status as object of property, the predicament of witnessing given the legal status of blacks, and the repression of counter discourses on the "peculiar institution." Therefore, Rankin must supplant the black captive in order to give expression to black suffering, and as a consequence, the dilemma-the denial of black sentience and the obscurity of suffering-is not attenuated but instantiated. The ambivalent character of empathy-more exactly, the repressive effects of empathy-as Jonathan Boyarin notes, can be located in the "obliteration of otherness" or the facile intimacy that enables identification with the other only as we "feel ourselves into those we imagine as ourselves." And as a consequence, empathy fails to expand the space of the other but merely places the self in its stead. This is not to suggest that empathy can be discarded or that Rankin's desire to exist in the place of the other can be dismissed as a narcissistic exercise but rather to highlight the dangers of a too-easy intimacy, the consideration of the self that occurs at the expense of the slave's suffering, and the violence of identification. (19-20)