Back in No Time. Brion Gysin

might well be split according to the color of the eye. Then we might have a war of the Blue Eyes against the Brown Eyes. Hitler almost succeeded.

      Yet, while one group is elevated at the expense of the other, the mass pressure generated in the subject group must be occasionally relieved. In order best to accomplish this—to provide a safety valve, as it were—an influential individual in the minority can be allowed special privilege on the understanding that he will, in exchange, work to soften the ugly moods and to pacify the anger of his fellows. Such a man can be had in many ways, and he need not be a villain—as indeed Josiah Henson was not. The Uncle Tom of any group can be persuaded to accept a position of minor importance, where his every gesture will, in fact, be padded with compromise, if he can be made to feel that his elevation is not only an individual triumph but is an achievement which, by reflection, will be of benefit to the minority from which he comes. Unless the person concerned be of high moral character and integrity of purpose, it is easy to succumb to comfort and advantage, to become a mere tool.

      It may seem almost cynical to say that to a large extent this is happily not possible for members of the Negro minority. The maneuver cannot be managed well enough because of the rigidity of the system of prejudice which surrounds all men and women of color. An affluent Negro, or one who has achieved distinction, will find it as arduous and even impossible as will his poorest and most illiterate brother to achieve and enjoy the equality which is his legal right. True enough, he can turn his back and attempt to segregate himself in a Black Society or Black Economy as certain groups have done in the past, or, driven by despair and the mirage of material success, attempt to gain it or a semblance of such success by whatever means are closest to hand. If in the attempt he must be servile or a clown, he is most likely to be called an Uncle Tom by those who know their folk history, for Uncle Tomism has a long tradition to which, unwittingly, Mrs. Stowe gave a permanent name.

      In the days of the Big House, when the plantation flourished, the house servants were in a position far superior to that of the field servants; they, and above all perhaps the women, made cultural and economic advances which are still reflected in the lives and life patterns of the Negro population of today. The house servants were usually those who were brought up from childhood in close contact with the lives of the masters, and it is little wonder if they came to identify their own interests with those of the owners. This identification produced a conflict not only between the two groups of slaves but also in the personal lives of those slaves who benefited from the advantages of increased freedom of movement and intimate contact with their masters. The house servants came to patronize the field hands, regarding themselves as superior, since they had learned that which never could be learned in the cotton fields—the manners and customs of the country to which they were to belong—and in consequence they exercised their native ingenuity in improving the domestic accomplishments of American life. Field work and the system, on the other hand, drove from the minds of the field slaves all that they had ever been in the past—whatever it had been.

      The house servants were the first among their fellows to learn the art of reading and writing, at a time when it was punishable by law to teach a slave to read. They thus became the spokesmen of the field hands, their brothers in oppression, who had grievances which they found it difficult to express, for they were neither as articulate as the house servant nor could they get the ear of the master as easily. At the same time the field workers admired, envied, and hated the house servant who had become their arbitrator—the go-between on whose interest and ingenuity they often depended for comfort and safety.

      The house servant, while he might sometimes be inclined to forget it in the warmth of the Big House or in the just pride that he had in his accomplishments, was nevertheless a slave himself, in constant fear of being sent back to the cotton fields and the rice swamp. Though he might consider the welfare of his fellows enough to intercede for them, or to aid them secretly in his function as butler by giving them handouts from the back porch, yet, even with the best of intentions, he soon came to know the rather narrow limits beyond which he could not go. The system made him a compromiser, and thus it was not he but the system which was at fault. In all truth, his intentions were often good, and even when they were not, or did not seem to be, little personal fault could be attributed to him, for like all men he was the sum of his personal qualities shaped in the greater mold of his environment. Yet what Mrs. Stowe saw in the type as heroic and admirable were the same qualities which brought a sneer to the lips of those who knew him most intimately; no wonder the Negroes recognized Uncle Tom when they found him in the pages of her book.

      It is doubtful, however, whether anyone would have recognized the human counterpart of Mrs. Stowe’s character quite as easily, for he was a much more complex character than it was within her comprehension, or perhaps her ability, to depict. If he had not left an account of his own life from which to draw the details of his story and in which can be seen the reflection of his character, it would be impossible to see him truly today. Mrs. Stowe could not kill Josiah Henson, and she had to excuse herself more than once for the “artistic necessity” which had obliged her to kill him in her book, under the guise of Uncle Tom, with such gusto that he often found it difficult to persuade people of his identity.

      We will let the man speak for himself in an extract from a speech that he made when he was already known half the world over as Uncle Tom, and found no cause to be ashamed of the name. We will let him prove that he was not dead in 1877, and then turn to the story of his life to find what made him the sort of man he was.

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      According to the Dumfries and Galloway Standard of Scotland for Wednesday, April 25, 1877, Josiah Henson was “loudly cheered” when he began his speech:

      There has been so much written and said about me, and so many things thought about me that I did not know I could do better than come and let you see me. (Laughter and applause.) It has been spread about that “Uncle Tom” is coming and that is what has brought you here. Now allow me to say that my name is not Tom and never was Tom and that I do not want any other name inserted in the newspapers for me but my own. My name is Josiah Henson, always was and always will be. I never change my colours. (Loud laughter.) I could not if I would and would not if I could. (Renewed laughter.) Well, inquiry in the minds of some has led to inquiry in the minds of others. You have read and heard some persons say that Uncle Tom was dead. And could he be here? It is an imposition that is being practised on us. Very well, I do not blame you for saying that. I do not think you are to blame. A great many people in this country have come to me and asked me if I was not dead. (Laughter.) Well now to remove this difficulty if it exists in your minds. As a matter of course, it is not pleasant for me to hear that I am traversing this country and practising an imposition on people. No it is not pleasant; and the only way I have to meet it is to say that it shows me that people ain’t well read, or have forgotten what they read, if they have ever read it at all. They have forgotten that Mrs. Stowe’s Uncle Tom’s Cabin is a novel; and that it must have seemed a glorious finish to that novel that she should kill her hero … a glorious finish. Now you can get the Key to Uncle Tom’s Cabin … you can buy it for about sixpence, about fifteen or sixteen cents … and you commence and read it. I see that gentleman along there setting it down. (Referring to our reporter.) That is all right. (Laughter.) I see you. (Laughter.) Well, you commence at the 34th chapter and you read up to the 57th and I think you will there see me. (Applause.)

      You remember that when the novel of Mrs. Stowe came out, it shook the foundations of this world. It shook the Americans out of their shoes and of their shirts. It left some of them on the sandbar barefooted and scratching their heads, so they came to the conclusion that the whole thing was a fabrication, a falsehood and a lie; and they accused her of writing it and they demanded of her a clue or a key to the novel she had written, the exposure she had made and the libel she had fixed on the United States.

      And so as she was in duty bound to give something, she, I think in 1853, brought out the Key, between you and she, and in that she spoke of me, and in that way set the Negro free. (Laughter and applause.)

      I am not Robert Burns … (Laughter.) but that is a fact. (Applause.)

      You will find in that Key of me the position which I held in relation to her work.