“To stand in front of a tank and be willing to be run over is absolutely not a funny situation, but it is a case parody. … The student tries through non-violent resistance to publicly humiliate the army in an exaggerated and literal demonstration of its callous oppression.”
—David Galston, Embracing the Human Jesus, 134
Smoky photos of police in riot gear alongside protestors in street clothes with paper signs, breathless cries of frustration from reporters, rumors of fire hoses and international investigations—in a heartbeat, fifty-year-old iconic images of racially charged history explode with latent power. Ferguson, Missouri, has reminded us that our everyday reality is pregnant with past violence.
The images are kept alive in our imaginations by family lore, literature and media, ready to escape when triggered. “The circulation of violence becomes a habit of life, and everybody makes a contribution,” writes David Galston in chapter 6 of Embracing the Human Jesus. We operate out of these habits as though they are the natural way to be—our “default reality” (115). Most of the time they exist as a backdrop, something that doesn't need to be thought out or noticed, but then something happens to awaken us to our assumptions. In Jewish Dogs: An Image and Its Interpreters, Kenneth Stow tells compellingly of how the slur “Jewish dog” is perpetuated in seemingly harmless ways across history—such as through cartoons and children’s games—only to rear up in more serious forms when new developments in political and social conflicts excite feelings against Jewish people.
Consider: if we recall the murdered 14-year-old Emmett Till in a conversation about Michael Brown, as I’ve seen people do this week on social media, what are we hoping people will do with that connection? Likewise, NPR ran a story about a black teen who was ‘almost another dead black male’—the catch? His mom was white. My children's skin color is darker than my own, so yes, this concerns me. But what I want to know is what we’re trying to accomplish with all these images.
David Galston suggests we can see non-violent resistance as a parody that demands change via embarrassment of the oppressor’s assumed power. Parody is defined by the Merriam-Webster dictionary as imitation “for comic effect or in ridicule, often with certain peculiarities greatly heightened or exaggerated.” This was a strategy employed by the historical Jesus, and it was probably what motivated Roman authorities to kill him. Many readers will be familiar with the following interpretation of "turn the other cheek": When Jesus said, “Turn the other cheek,” he probably was not encouraging us to passively accept abuse. Rather, it was a demand for equality. “To be slapped on the right cheek is to receive the backhanded blow of your oppressor’s right hand. It is symbolically a ‘downward’ blow meant to put you in your place” (134). Yet when you turn the other cheek, you demand a blow “that assumes equality.”
Galston does not mean to argue that Jesus taught exactly this popular lesson of non-violent resistance as it is now associated with him. It may have nothing to do with what the historical Jesus actually said and did. Rather, “the point is to extend ancient wisdom of the Jesus school into our time and language” (139). We carry the momentum of his teaching forward in our own ways. As the late Marshallese storyteller Jorju Arre once explained, he only told stories to the people who asked, even if that meant only one person would ever hear them (Kelin & Nashon, Marshall Islands Legends & Stories: 169). Sometimes we need to demand stories of the past that propel us toward a better future. If we don’t ask, it won’t be remembered.
Emmett Till’s mom left the casket open. Protesters at Tiananmen Square in 1989 refused to move from in front of tanks. What are we doing when we set up and recall such highly visual protests? We are declaring the imbalance of power. We are not allowing it to go unseen. It’s a parody of the oppressor’s control. True, we don’t laugh; but we sure see the ridiculousness of our oppressor’s demands for peace and quiet.
This is part of an ongoing series on David Galston's book, Embracing the Human Jesus. Don't leave the last word to me. Share your thoughts below ↓[divider style="hr-dotted"]
Cassandra Farrin joined Westar in 2010 and currently serves as Associate Publisher and Director of Marketing. A US-UK Fulbright Scholar, she has an M.A. in Religious Studies from Lancaster University (England) and a B.A. in Religious Studies from Willamette University.